$1OOO.OO 
for  the  Ri^'ht  Guess 


Last  spring  plans  were  made  by  Messrs.  Small,  Maynard  & 
Company  for  what  may  be  called  a  literary  "  House  Party." 
The  idea  was  suggested  by  a  casual  discussion  of  the  ear 
marks  of  authorship.  What  is  it  that  distinguishes  the  work 
of  one  writer  from  that  of  another?  Is  it  style  or  a  difference 
in  the  point  of  view?  Could  you  tell  who  wrote  a  story  if  the 
author's  name  were  not  given  ?  The  questions  were  so  inter 
esting  that  it  was  determined  to  submit  them  to  the  reading 
public. 

Invitations  to  the  "  House  Party"  were  extended  to  the  fol 
lowing  distinguished  authors:  THOMAS  BAILEY  AL- 
DRICH,  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS,  GEORGE  W. 
CABLE,  WINSTON  CHURCHILL,  F.  MARION  CRAW 
FORD,  MARGARET  DELANO,  PAUL  LEICESTER 
FORD,  JOHN  FOX,  JR.,  HAMLIN  GARLAND,  ROB 
ERT  GRANT,  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS,  MRS. 
BURTON  HARRISON,  W.  D.  HOWELLS,  SARAH 
ORNE  JEWETT,  THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE, 
CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS,  BERTHA  RUNKLE, 
F.  HOPKINSON  SMITH,  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON, 
RUTH  McENERY  STUART,  BOOTH  TARKINGTON, 
OCTAVE  THANET,  MARK  TWAIN,  MARY  E.  WIL- 
KINS,  OWEN  WISTER. 

Each  author  was  to  contribute  one  story,  the  stories  to  be 
published  anonymously.  Readers  were  then  to  be  invited  to 
guess  the  authorship;  and,  to  add  zest  to  the  contest,  it  was 
decided  to  offer  a  prize  of  ONE  THOUSANL  DOLLARS 
FOR  THE  RIGHT  GUESS.  Twelve  of  the  authors  above 


named  accepted,  and  each  told  one  story.  Their  stones  are 
all  in  this  volume,  the  introduction  to  each,  as  well  as  the  gen 
eral  introduction,  being  by  PAUL  LEICESTER  FORD. 


Conditions  of  tHe  Contest 

Follow  these  directions  carefully  :  After  reading  the  stories, 
fill  out  the  coupon  on  the  page  opposite  to  this.  Write  the 
names  of  the  authors  plainly  in  the  spaces  designated  for  that 
purpose.  Write  plainly,  also,  your  name  and  address  on  the 
lines  below,  being  careful  to  give  number  and  full  name  of 
street  if  in  a  city,  or  name  of  county  if  in  a  small  town. 

Detach  this  coupon,  and  mail  it  to  Small,  Maynard  &  Com 
pany,  Boston,  Massachusetts,  in  time  for  them  to  receive  it  not 
later  than  Dec.  31,  1901. 

If,  when  all  of  the  guesses  are  received,  only  one  person  has 
succeeded  in  guessing  the  correct  authorship  of  the  twelve 
stories,  that  person  will  receive  the  entire  $1000.00.  If,  how 
ever,  more  than  one  person  guesses  the  correct  authorship,  the 
thousand  dollars  will  be  divided  equally  among  the  winners. 
For  instance,  if  ten  correct  guesses  are  received,  each  one  will 
receive  $100.00.  If  no  correct  guess  is  received,  the  one 
guessing  nearest  to  the  correct  authorship  of  the  twelve  stories 
will  receive  the  $1000.00  prize,  unless  two  or  more  come 
equally  nearest,  in  which  case  the  prize  will  be  equally  divided. 

One  may  make  as  many  guesses  as  desired ;  but  each  guess 
must  be  on  the  authorship  of  all  twelve  stories,  and  must  be 
sent  in  on  the  coupons  provided. 

All  guesses  must  be  sent  in  accordance  with  these  direc 
tions,  and  must  be  delivered  not  later  than  Dec.  31,  1901,  to 
the  publishers : 

Small,  Maynard    (&L  Company 
Boston.   Massachusetts 


<A  HOUSE  PARTY"  GUESSING  COUPON 


MY  guess  on  the  authorship  of  the  "  House  Party "  stories 
is  indicated  by  the  names  I  set  down  opposite  the  titles,  as 
follows :  — 


THE  ANGEL  OF 
THE   LORD 


ARTEMISIA'S 
MIRROR 


AUNT   NANCY'S 
ANNUITY 


THE  BROKEN 
STORY 


DAWSON'S 
DILEMMA 


THE   FAIRY 
GODMOTHER 


A    FAMILY 
TRADITION 


THE 
GREEN   BOWL 


THE 
MESSENGER 


MOTHER 


THE  RED  OXEN 
OF  BONVAL 


A  SURRENDER 


My  Name  is... 
Address .... 


DETACH    THIS    C  O  U  P  O  N,  and   mail    it,   filled   out   as 
directed,  in  time  to  be  delivered  not  later  than  Dec.  31,  1901,  to 

SMALL,      MAYNARD      &      COMPANY,      Publishers,      BOSTON 


V 


A   HOUSE    PARTY 


A  HOUSE  PARTY 

AN   ACCOUNT  OF  THE 

STORIES  TOLD  AT  A  GATHERING  OF 

FAMOUS    AMERICAN    AUTHORS 

THE   STORY  TELLERS   BEING 

INTRODUCED   BY 

PAUL  LEICESTER  FORD 


Boston 

Small,  Maynard  &  Company 
1901 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
Small,  Maynard  fcf  Company 

(Incorporated} 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


Riggs  Printing  £ff  Publishing  Company 
Many,  U.S.J. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION l 

A  FAMILY  TRADITION 6 

ARTEMISIA'S  MIRROR 39 

DAWSON'S  DILEMMA 78 

A  SURRENDER iJ9 

AUNT  NANCY'S  ANNUIIY 151 

THE    MESSENGER 186 

THE  GREEN  BOWL 208 

THE  BROKEN  STORY 236 

MOTHER 287 

THE  FAIRY  GODMOTHER'S  STORY 3M 

THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  LORD 34° 

THE  RED  OXEN  OF  BONVAL  .               387 


A   HOUSE   PARTY 

Stories  By 
Famous  American  Authors 


4274^ 


A  HOUSE  PARTY 


INTRODUCTION 

ALL  the  guests  were  cross  or  yawning  or  both, 
and  the  hostess  was  almost  at  the  point  of 
suicide. 

Yet  any  one  looking  in  upon  them  that  evening, 
as  they  lounged  about  the  fine  old  library  after 
dinner,  would  have  seen  little  excuse  for  either 
mood.  Mrs.  Goddard  was  an  experienced  chate 
laine,  and  had  issued  her  invitations  for  that  house 
party  wittingly.  Eligible  youths  had  been  invited 
for  the  benefit  of  desirable  girls ;  middle-aged  bache 
lors  had  been  bidden  to  brighten  the  hours  of  doubt 
ful-aged  maidens;  and  grey-haired  men  in  their 
"  anecdotage  "  had  been  included  to  add  spice  to 
the  gossip  of  the  dowagers.  There  were  multi- 
brain  people  for  conversation  and  uni-brain  people 
for  golf.  There  were  sedentary  people  for  cards 
and  restless  people  for  picnics.  There  were  strenu 
ous  people  for  croquet  and  peace-loving  people  for 
umpires.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  wonderfully  assorted 
and  combined  house  party. 

Nor  did  the  perfection  of  it  reside  only  in  the 
variety  yet  harmony  of  its  guests.  The  house  was 
fine  enough  and  comfortable  enough  to  satisfy  the 
most  fastidious,  and  was  neither  so  small  as  to  be 
cramped  nor  so  large  as  to  be  barn-like.  Then,  too, 


2  A  House  Party 

it  was  neither,  so  filled  as  to  be  crowded  noi'  so 
empty  as  to  be  lonesome.  There  was  an  admirable 
stable,  with  horses  and  carriages  and  grooms  at  the 
beck  and  call  of  whomsoever  listeth ;  and  there  was  a 
lake,  with  cranky  canoes  for  those  of  mental  or 
physical  levity,  and  flat-bottomed  boats  for  those 
of  gravity  of  mind  or  body.  The  cellar  \vas  good, 
and  the  cook  was  better.  The  tennis  court  was  a 
turf  one,  and  that  of  the  closest  and  finest.  The 
billiard  table  had  new  cushions  and  the  cues  were  in 
order.  In  the  library  were  all  the  unread  standards 
and  the  overread  contemporaries.  Finally,  there 
was  not  a  trace  of  the  usual  destroyer  of  joy, — no 
serpent  in  paradise ;  for  it  was  not  even  necessary  to 
deny  the  existence  of  the  mosquito  because  he  was 
entirely  forgotten. 

Yet  all  the  guests  were  cross  or  yawning  or  both, 
and  Mrs.  Goddard  was  at  the  point  of  suicide. 

The  cause  of  the  trouble  had  begun  weeks  before, 
and  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  very  ordinary 
August  drought,  which  was  brought  to  a  culmina 
tion  of  evil,  so  Mrs.  Goddard  had  fretted  herself 
into  believing,  by  a  special  prayer  of  her  own  cler 
gyman  the  previous  Sunday.  In  the  presence  of  the 
but-one-day  assembled  house  party,  he  had  made  an 
earnest  supplication  for  rain ;  and,  if  the  "  prayers  of 
the  wicked  "  are  of  "  no  avail."  it  can  only  be  in 
ferred  that  Mrs.  Goddard's  pastor  was  a  paragon  of 
goodness.  Before  the  service  was  through,  it  was 
raining;  and,  before  the  house  was  reached,  it  was 


Introduction  3 

pouring.  All  Sunday  night  it  rained,  and  all  day 
Monday.  Some  guest  asserted  that  the  downpour 
ceased  for  a  little  time  just  before  daybreak  on  Tues 
day;  but  it  was  raining  again  when  they  assembled 
for  breakfast,  and  it  had  not  stopped  when  they 
separated  late  that  evening.  Wednesday  it  only 
drizzled;  but  out-of-doors  was  nothing  but  an  earn 
est  rivalry  between  mud  and  puddles  as  to  which 
should  preponderate,  and  so  every  one  stayed  in 
doors  and  discussed  what  they  should  do  the  next 
day,  when  it  had  cleared.  Having  had  a  day's  rest, 
it  really  rained  on  Thursday, — so  hard,  in  fact,  that 
it  could  not  stop  on  Friday.  On  Saturday  the  sun 
came  out  toward  nightfall  for  at  least  half  an  hour, 
and  every  one  turned  weather  prophet.  But  on 
Sunday  it  was  once  again  raining;  and  it  was  still 
at  it  when  the  house  party  left  the  dining-room  for 
the  library  after  the  evening  meal,  each  one  of  them 
looking  as  if  he  or  she  were  going  to  their  own 
execution  or  would  like,  to  go  to  somebody's  else. 

It  was  enough  to  drive  any  hostess  to  despair; 
and  for  a  moment  Mrs.  Goddard  hesitated  whether 
it  was  not  her  duty  to  yield  the  convictions  of  a  life 
time,  and  allow  cards  and  billiards  that  evening. 
But,  even  as  she  struggled  between  the  duties  of 
conscience  and  conviviality,  a  chance  remark  re 
lieved  her  from  the  necessity  of  deciding. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  jolly,"  suggested  a  girl,  "  if  one 
of  these  portraits  would  only  step  down  from  its 
frame,  and  tell  us  a  story?  " 


4  A  House  Party 

"  I've  no  doubt  each  could  tell  us  a  very  interest 
ing  one,"  remarked  the  host,  "  if  it  were  but  per 
mitted  them." 

"Well,  why  not  make  them?"  questioned  Mrs. 
Goddard's  cousin. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Harold?  " 

"  Since  they  can't  tell  us  their  stories,  suppose  we 
tell  some  for  them." 

"  But  most  of  us  don't  know  anything  about 
them,"  objected  some  one. 

"  Then  take  anything  else  in  the  room  that  so 
much  as  reminds  one  of  a  story." 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  a  man. 

"  It's  just  what  we  were  needing,"  joyfully  cried 
Mrs.  Goddard.  "  Now  all  draw  up  to  the  fire,  and 
some  one  begin." 

There  was  a  moment's  confusion  as  the  rearrange 
ment  was  made ;  and  then  came  a  pause,  while  every 
one  looked  at  everybody  else. 

"  Now  who  will  tell  the  first?  "  asked  the  hostess. 

"  I  think  that  is  for  you  to  decide,"  said  a 
guest. 

"  Very  well.     Suppose  you  begin." 

"  I  think  it's  your  duty,"  suggested  some  one. 

"  I  could  no  more  tell  a  story  than  fly,"  pro 
tested  Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  That's  true  of  most  novelists,"  remarked  an  old 
bachelor,  bitterly. 

"  If  you  fail  us,  some  one  will  use  you  as  an  ex 
cuse,"  said  one  of  the  guests,  warningly. 


Introduction  5 

"  Really  it  isn't  in  me.  Here,  Harold,  you  tell  a 
story  for  the  two  of  us,"  Mrs.  Goddard  begged,  ap- 
pealingly,  to  her  middle-aged  cousin.  "  I  know  you 
must  have  found  out  something  in  your  work  on  our 
genealogy  that  is  worth  telling." 

Harold  Goddard  smiled  slightly,  as  he  replied, 
"  Yes,  I'll  tell  them  the  story  of  great-uncle  Jonas, 
and—" 

"  Oh,  no,  we  don't  want  to  hear  anything  about 
him,"  hastily  interrupted  the  hostess. 

"  Very  well,"  assented  her  cousin,  his  eyes  twink 
ling.  "  If  you  know  a  better  one,  you  tell  it." 

''Pshaw!  Tell  them  anything  but  that.  Here, 
tell  them  something  about  grandfather." 

"  Grandfather,"  dutifully  began  the  first  story 
teller,  "  is  present  in  the  form  of  that  portrait  hang 
ing  over  the  sofa,  and  by  good  luck  my  cousin  has 
taken  something  by  which  there  hangs  a  really  good 
tale." 

In  fact  it's-"  A  FAMILY  TRADITION." 


A  FAMILY  TRADITION 


<  C  ¥  WANT  you  all  to  look  at  that  picture  closely, 
and  though  the  flicker  of  the  firelight  makes  it 
difficult  to  see,  I  think  you  can  detect  a  curious 
roughness  about  the  outline  of  the  figure,  much  as  if 
the  cobbler-artist  who  painted  it,  finding  his  tech 
nique  insufficient,  to  make  it  project  itself  from  the 
background,  had  endeavoured  to  obtain  such  an  ef 
fect  by  actual  layers  of  paint.  Look  at  the  right 
shoulder,  above  the  epaulette  and  you  will  perceive 
what  I  mean.  See  how  lumpily  the  paint  is  laid  on  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  see  anything  unusual/'  re 
marked  some  one. 

"  Then  the  light  comes  wrong  for  you.  I'm  sure 
that  some  of  you  sit  so  that  you  can  see  to  what  I 
refer?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  it's  very  noticeable,"  acceded  a  girl 
to  whom  the  appeal  was  made. 

"  As  it  will  be  to  you  all,  when  I  tell  you  its  real 
nature.  Imagine  that  once  that  figure  was  cut  from 
the  surrounding  canvas  by  a  knife,  and  that  later 
when  it  was  restored,  the  injury  was  painted  out,  as 
well  as  could  be,  but  inevitably,  with  a  thickening 
of  the  paint  at  that  point  almost  into  ridges." 

'  Yes.  I  see  now  what  you  mean,"  assented  a 
listener. 

"  Certainly.     It's  as  plain  as  can  be,"  agreed  a 

second  one. 

6 


A  Family  Tradition  7 

"  Well,  my  story  has  to  do  with  that  particular 
fact,  and  I  am  going  to  leave  it  to  each  of  you  to 
decide  whether  the  picture  was  the  evil  genius  or  the 
guardian  angel  of  the  gentleman  it  represents.  It 
was  painted  by  an  unknown  artist  in  New  York  dur 
ing  the  summer  of  1776,  and  was  intended  to  depict 
one  Lieutenant  Richard  Goddard,  whose  regiment 
formed  part  of  the  forces  with  which  Washington 
was  holding  the  city.  Why  he  chose  the  particular 
moment  of  war's  alarms  to  have  himself  painted,  I 
cannot  say,  but  there  are  two  horns  to  the  dilemma, 
and  you  are  welcome  to  either,  or  both.  The  first 
explanation  is  that  he  had  but  just  received  his  com 
mission,  and  doubtless  was  so  proud  of  his  new  uni 
form  that  the  temptation  to  have  a  counterfeit  pre 
sentment  of  himself  made  was  irresistible.  The 
second  is  that  between  guard  duty  and  intrenching 
he  found  time,  or,  perhaps,  as  better  befitted  his  call 
ing,  killed  it,  by  becoming  deeply  enamoured  with  his 
cousin,  Phillis  Goelet,  and  it  may  have  been  that  it 
was  painted  at  her  behest,  or,  at  least,  in  the  hope 
that  it  would  find  a  favour  in  her  eyes,  which,  if  fam 
ily  tradition  is  to  be  trusted,  the  original  was  slow 
to  achieve.  We  know  for  certain  that  the  actual  sit 
tings  took  place  at  Fairview,  her  father's  home,  over 
looking  the  East  River,  and  about  two  miles  from 
New  York — that  is — from  Wall  Street — though  the 
city  then  straggled  almost  a  mile  farther  north.  The 
Captain  had  been  asked  by  his  kinspeople  to  make 
his  home  with  them,  and  he,  and  I  suspect,  all  the 


8  A  House  Party 

other  young  officers,  were  with  them  as  much  as 
their  military  duties  allowed;  and  here  on  the  lawn 
the  portrait  was  limned,  with  the  old  house  as  a  back 
ground.  One  can  picture  the  scene  as  he  posed  and 
the  artist  painted,  and,  to  judge  from  his  expression, 
Miss  Phillis  is  either  saying  something  teasing  to 
him,  or  else  some  one  of  the  officers  is  uttering 
some  piece  of  gallantry  to  her.  Or  do  you  think 
it  was  merely  too  early  in  the  season  for  mel 
ons?" 

"  Harold,  how  absurd !  Grandfather  was  always 
very  careful  what  he  ate." 

"  At  seventy-nine,  yes,  but  that  was  because  he 
hadn't  been  at  twenty-two,  cousin.  A  man  who 
doesn't  learn  the  lesson  of  green  melons  at  twenty 
will  surely  do  so  at  seventy.  However,  we'll  say 
that  he  left  the  melon  patch  well  alone,  probably  be 
cause  the  rank  and  file  had  already  stripped  it  bare, 
and  that  the  expression  is  due  to  Miss  Phillis's  co 
quetting  with — " 

"  Harold,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  say  such 
things.  From  the  way  you  talk,  everyone  will 
think  her  a  flirt." 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me  that  she  had  sixteen  proposals 
of  marriage,  not  counting  nibbles  ?  " 

:i  Yes.     And  it's  true,  for  Mamma  told  me." 

"  And  what  would  you  call  a  modern  girl  who  had 
sixteen  offers  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  that's  different  Harold.  That  would 
be  horribly  vulgar,  of  course,  but  all  the  girls  of  that 


A  Family  Tradition  9 

time  had  lots  of  proposals.     It  was  the  way  things 
were  then." 

"  Then  why  make  boast  of  it  in  her  case?  " 

"  Why,  you  see — Pshaw !  I  don't  boast  of  it, 
Harold ;  I  only  tell  of  it  to  prove  how  beautiful  and 
attractive  she  was." 

"  Just  as  every  girl  of  that  generation  was,  if  you'll 
believe  their  descendants.  But  how  about  the 
men?" 

"Men?  What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Goddard. 

"  Why,  if  every  girl  had  a  baker's  dozen  or  so  of 
lovers,  what  an  awful  disgrace  rests  on  our  grand 
fathers." 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean,  Harold." 

"  That  each  one  was  in  love  a  dozen  times  before 
he  could  get  a  girl  to  have  him.  They  must  have 
been  awful  chumps.  Really  Lieutenant  Dick,  I 
don't  wonder  that  you  have  the  woe-begone  look  to 
your  mouth,  which  a  moment  ago  I  ascribed  to 
melons.  Think  of  being  rejected  that  often !  No 
wonder  they  were  six  and  eight  bottle  men;  nothing 
short  of  a  hogshead  would  do  for  me  under  such  a 
series  of  disappointments.  Their  hearts  must  have 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  through  a  stone-breaker 
set  to  make  top-dressing  for  macadam  roads." 

"  Harold,  you  are  perfectly  unbearable.  She  was 
his  first  and  only  love." 

"  Then  I  suppose  eleven  other  girls  were  short  one 
proposal  each,  by  his  being  so  ungallant,  as  well  as 


io  A  House  Party 

unfashionable.  How  the  dear  creatures  must  have 
hated  him." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Mamma  assured  me  he 
was  a  great  beau." 

"  Possibly  because  they  liked  a  variation  from  the 
other  kind.  I  should  think  that  what  we  may  term 
the  '  rapid-fire '  lovers  of  that  time  must  have  been 
rather  a  nuisance.  As  they  usually  married  before 
they  were  much  over  twenty,  they  must  have  pro 
posed  at  least  three  or  four  times  a  year.  Probably 
once  at  each  solstice  and  equinox." 

"  If  you  don't  stop  being  silly,  and  tell  your  story, 
I'll  begin  one  in  your  stead." 

"  Excuse  me,  all,  for  the  discursiveness.  To  re 
sume,  Captain  Dick  sat  for  his  portrait  and  courted 
Miss  Phillis  until  early  in  August,  when  his  regiment 
was  ordered  to  Brooklyn.  There  he  shared  in  the 
drubbing  the  Continental  army  got,  but,  fortunately, 
having,  as  you  will  see  by  the  portrait,  a  good  pair 
of  legs,  he  was  not  taken  prisoner,  and  having  suc 
cessfully  run  away,  he  '  lived  to  fight  another  day.' ' 

"  He  was  promoted  for  his  conduct,  and  you  know 
it,  Harold." 

"  Only  because  his  superior  officer  couldn't  run  fast 
enough  and  so  was  captured.  Clearly  a  company 
without  a  captain  wouldn't  do,  and  so  Dick  was 
given  his  colours.  Well.  Here  he  was  back  again, 
and  once  more  vainly  sighing  at  the  pretty  feet  of 
Miss  Phillis,  none  the  better,  I  presume,  in  her  eyes, 
because  of  his  masterly  retreat.  He  was  not  per- 


A  Family  Tradition  1 1 

mitted  to  sigh  for  long,  however,  for  the  British 
effected  a  landing  on  Manhattan,  and  once  more  good 
legs  were  at  a  premium.  It  is  needless  to  relate  the 
part  he  bore  in  the  retreat,  first  to  the  north  end  of 
the  island,  and  then  to  White  Plains,  the  one  fact  of 
importance  to  our  tale  being  that  he  left  behind  him 
at  Fairview  not  merely  the  girl  of  his  heart,  but  the 
portrait,  a  full-length  canvas  not  being  exactly  equi 
page  for  a  soldier  in  an  active  campaign.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  he  paid  the  poor  artist — that  is — sign 
painter — before  departing." 

"  It's  horrid  of  you  to  say  such  things,  Harold, 
and  I  don't  see  how  you  can  do  it.  I'm  sure  he  paid 
for  it." 

"  Then  he  unquestionably  did,  though  I  have 
known  the  masculine  two  and  twenty  sometimes  a 
trifle  neglectful  of  such  little  forms  and  conventions. 
And  now  that  one  thinks  of  it,  may  not  that  droop  to 
the  mouth  be  due  to  his  worrying  over  where  on 
earth  he  was  to  get  the  money  to  pay  for  the  likeness? 
Passing  that  by,  however,  as  irrelevant,  here  we  have 
Dick  himself  in  Westchester  and  Dick's  portrait  at 
Fairview,  both  unhung,  however  deserving  thereof 
the  former  was  in — " 

"Harold!" 

"  You  should  let  me  complete  my  sentence — how 
ever  deserving  thereof  the  former  was  in  the  eyes  of 
King  George's  cohorts.  Well,  these  same  British 
myrmidons  pursued  the  retreating  Continentals  into 
Westchester,  intent  upon  putting  an  end  to  resistance, 


12  A  House  Party 

an  intention  persisted  in  until  they  came  in  sight  of 
the  position  Washington  had  occupied.  Not  liking 
the  look  of  it,  and  with  a  recollection  of  Bunker's 
Hill  akin  to  that  of  the  child  who  has  discovered  by 
contact  how  a  hot  stove  feels,  they  took  counsel  and 
decided  that  there  was  an  opportunity  for  the  brave 
Hessians  and  Anspachers  to  cover  themselves  with 
undying  glory  and  a  foot  of  top-soil.  Accordingly, 
the  German  regiments  were  ordered  to  assault  and 
carry  the  American  lines,  and  with  alacrity  and 
courage  they  declined  to  rob  the  British  grenadiers 
of  such  an  occasion  for  achieving  fame.  As  this 
prudent  declaration  did  not  tend  to  increase  the 
British  liking  for  the  task,  it  was  abandoned,  and 
their  forces  fell  back  to  Manhattan,  giving  out  in 
explanation  that  those  particular  native  grapes  were 
sour,  and  that  they  never  had  wanted  them  any  way. 
It  is  a  story  in  the  family  that  when  one  of  the  Brit 
ish  officers  who  was  quartered  at  Fairview  bitingly 
remarked  that  he'd  like  to  see  the  face  of  Captain 
Goddard,  Miss  Phillis  replied  that  he  might  have 
gratified  his  wish  if  he  had  taken  the  time  to  look  be 
hind  him  in  the  retreat,  a  retort  tending  to  prove 
that  though  her  ladyship  might  not  be  willing  to 
surrender  to  Captain  Dick  herself,  she  did  not  pro 
pose  to  see  him  the  butt  of  any  one  else.  There  is  a 
curious  distinction  between  a  man's  and  a  woman's 
love,  in  that  he  knows  himself  to  be  stricken  with  the 
first  symptoms  of  the  fever,  but  she  can  have  the  dis 
ease  for  months  before  she  discovers  what  it  is." 


A  Family  Tradition  13 

"  Sort  of  walking  typhoid,  eh  ?  "  suggested  one  of 
the  listeners. 

"  Much  worse.  Fewer  recoveries,"  muttered  the 
old  bachelor. 

"  Meantime,  while  Miss  Phillis  was  making  the 
mouths  of  the  British  officers  alternately  water  and 
droop,  as  once  she  had  made  Dick's — " 

"  Then  you  acknowledge  that  he  did  pay  the  poor 
artist,"  demanded  the  hostess,  triumphantly. 

"Is  it  kind  to  call  the  painter  that,  cousin?  Re 
member,  he  is  dead." 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  didn't  mean  any 
criticism  on  the  quality  of  his  work." 

"  Then  you  must  have  meant  that  he  was  poor  in  a 
worldly  sense;  ergo,  it  is  clear  that  Grandfather 
Richard  had  not  paid  him?"  questioned  the  nar 
rator. 

"  Do  finish  your  story,  Harold,"  was  her  only  re 
tort. 

"  I  should  have  long  since,  but  for  interruptions. 
Howe  and  his  forces  having  done  their  share  of  re 
treating,  it  became  a  question  in  the  Continental 
camp  whether  the  British  were  going  into  winter 
quarters  at  New  York,  or  whether  they  were  plan 
ning  a  descent  into  New  Jersey.  Accurate  knowl 
edge  on  this  point  was  of  enormous  importance,  and 
the  little  that  was  obtainable  was  of  the  most  con- 
flicting  nature.  Under  these  circumstances  Captain 
Dick  offered  to  go  into  the  city  to  see  if  he  could  not 
get  the  needed  information,  and  his  proposition 


14  A  House  Party 

was  eagerly  accepted.  The  American  cause  still 
had  friends  in  the  town  who  could  aid  in  the  quest, 
three  of  whom  were  named  to  the  young  volunteer, 
and  as  the  British  could  scarcely  guard  the  whole 
water  front  of  the  city,  it  did  not  appear  a  difficult 
task  to  effect  a  landing  and  a  communication  with 
them. 

"  As  time  was  everything,  Dick  secured  the  garb 
of  a  farmer,  and  rode  some  twelve  miles  that  after 
noon  to  Morrisania.  One  of  the  family  after  whom 
that  place  was  named,  being  in  camp,  had  recom 
mended  to  the  Captain  a  boatman  who  could  be  relied 
upon,  and  as  soon  as  the  darkness  permitted,  they 
rowed  out  of  the  Harlem  into  the  East  River,  and 
pulled  for  New  York,  expecting  to  reach  it  some 
time  before  midnight.  To  their  disappointment, 
they  soon  discovered  that  a  number  of  British  frig 
ates  and  patrol  boats  were  in  the  river,  forcing 
them  to  proceed  with  the  utmost  caution,  and  thus 
long  before  their  destination  was  reached,  the  tide 
turned,  which  meant  more  delay.  Upon  this  the 
boatman  refused  to  go  farther,  fearing  that  he  could 
not  make  good  his  own  return  before  daylight,  and 
gave  his  companion  the  choice  of  either  being  landed 
where  they  were,  or  of  returning  with  him.  It  is 
needless  to  say  which  alternative  he  took,  and,  ac 
cordingly,  a  little  after  three  o'clock  the  Captain 
iound  himself  on  the  shores  of  Manhattan,  with  but 
little  farther  knowledge  as  to  his  whereabouts. 

"  Fortunately,  the  barking  of  a  dog  gave  him  a 


A  Family  Tradition  15 

little  guidance,  and  by  this  clue  he  groped  his  way 
through  a  field  or  two,  until  at  last  he  came  upon  a 
farm  house,  to  which,  because  of  the  dog  and  the 
unknown  sympathies  of  its  occupants,  he  gave  a  wide 
berth,  but  by  its  means  was  quickly  upon  the  King's 
Bridge  road,  and  therefore  upon  familiar  ground. 
Turning  southward  upon  it,  he  took  as  rapid  a  pace 
as  he  dared,  for  not  knowing  where  an  outpost  might 
be  placed  some  prudence  was  necessary.  The  wis 
dom  of  his  precaution  was  soon  shown  by  his  coming 
in  sight  of  a  picket  fire  at  the  junction  with  the 
Middle  Road.  Frequent  strolls  during  the  previous 
summer  with — let  us  say,  his  fellow  officers — had 
made  all  this  well  known  country  to  him,  and  he 
turned  off  into  a  lane,  and  then  into  one  branching 
from  it,  which  brought  him,  just  as  the  sky  was  be 
ginning  to  redden,  behind  the  barn  of  Fairview." 

"Oh,  ho!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  masculine  lis 
teners. 

"  That's  what  I've  been  hoping  he'd  do,"  eagerly 
cried  a  feminine  one. 

"  Proceeding  cautiously,  he  stole  around  the  barn, 
and,  wishing  to  make  sure  of  the  place  of  quick  re 
treat,  before  venturing  to  the  house,  he  softly  rolled 
back  one  of  the  barn  doors  until  there  was  space 
enough  for  him  to  enter.  What  the  growing  light 
revealed  to  him,  led  to  a  hasty  retreat,  for  on  piles  of 
hay  spread  on  the  floor  lay  three  red-coated  troopers, 
and  even  as  he  drew  back,  one  of  them  suddenly  sat 
up,  and  looked  about  to  see  what  had  disturbed  him. 


1 6  A  House  Party 

A  large  chestnut  tree  stood  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
barn,  and  Dick  jumped  quietly  behind  it,  not  a  mo 
ment  too  soon,  for  the  cavalryman  appeared  at  the 
doorway  and  looked  out,  while  he  tried  to  rub  the 
sleep  from  his  eyes.  Seeing  nothing,  and  too  stupid 
still  to  draw  any  inference  from  the  change  in  the 
door,  he  muttered  a  curse,  and  went  back  to  his  hay. 
Waiting  a  little  for  safety,  the  Captain  left  his  con 
cealment,  and  keeping  out  of  the  range  of  the  crack, 
and  using  every  bit  of  cover  that  he  could,  he  sneaked 
his  way  to  the  house.  It  was  now  almost  daylight 
and  every  moment  was  making  his  situation  more 
perilous.  Hoping  to  gain  aid  from  within,  and 
knowing  that  the  servants  would  be  first  stirring,  he 
went  to  the  kitchen,  and  peeped  in  at  one  of  the 
windows.  Here,  again,  he  was  doomed  to  disap 
pointment,  for  he  could  see  by  the  light  of  the  moul 
dering  logs  in  the  fireplace  more  sleeping  figures 
stretched  on  the  floor. 

"  Oftentimes  our  luckiest  actions  are  forced  upon 
us,  and  so  it  proved  in  this  case.  While  Goddard 
momentarily  debated  what  it  was  best  to  do,  the 
sound  of  the  barn  doors  being  rolled  open  attracted 
his  attention,  and  there  issued  forth  one  of  the 
troopers,  leading  a  horse.  He  was  followed  by  a 
second  and  then  a  third  one,  each  with  a  horse,  and 
then  all  took  their  way  to  the  watering  trough,  which 
was  in  plain  view  of  the  house.  Our  Captain  at  the 
first  warning  had  hastily  placed  himself  behind  the 
vines  growing  about  the  kitchen  porch,  this  being  the 


A  Family  Tradition  17 

only  cover  at  hand,  and  here  he  stood,  though  wish 
ing  that  he  had  sought  concealment  in  the  orchards 
or  elsewhere,  and  trusting  that  they  would  presently 
return  to  the  barn  and  give  him  a  chance  to  escape. 
Even  this  hope  was  quickly  killed,  for  as  the  horses 
drank,  one  of  the  men  put  a  bugle  to  his  lips  and 
there  came  across  the  lawn  the  notes  to  which  soldiers 
have  put  the  words  :• 

'  I  can't  get  'em  up, 
I  can't  get  'em  up, 

I  can't  get  'em  up  in  the  morning. 
I  can't  get  'em  up, 
I  can't  get  'em  up, 
I  can't  get  'em  up  at  all.' 

"  As  if  echoing  a  disproof,  the  Captain  heard 
sounds  which  indicated  that  those  within  were  stir 
ring,  and  he  knew  that  the  protecting  vines  which 
the  autumn  frosts  had  almost  stripped  of  their  leaves, 
would  be  no  concealment  from  any  one  coming  on  to 
the  porch.  For  an  instant  he  balanced  either  a  run 
for  it,  or  boldly  joining  the  men  at  the  trough ;  then 
as  the  best,  he  put  his  foot  on  the  lattice  and  as 
quickly  as  he  could  climbed  to  the  roof  of  the  porch. 
Here,  by  lying  down  he  could  almost  conceal  him 
self  from  view.  This  he  effected,  and  none  too 
soon,  for  barely  was  he  placed,  when  he  heard  the 
kitchen  door  open,  and  footsteps  below  him,  sounds 
which  turned  the  eyes  of  those  at  the  trough  to- 


1 8  A  House  Party 

wards  the  house,  and  as  he  could  see  them  plainly, 
he  realised  that  if  their  attention  was  not  fixed  on 
their  fellow  troopers,  a  little  lifting  of  their  eyes 
would  reveal  him  to  them.  Fortunately  for  him, 
the  two  groups  began  to  gird  at  each  other,  as  those 
below  left  the  porch  and  walked  toward  their  fel 
lows.  The  newcomers  after  a  moment's  pause  with 
their  fellows  continued  on  to  the  barn,  evidently  to 
get  their  own  chargers,  and  those  at  the  trough  faced 
about  to  continue  the  vocal  sparring. 

"  It  was  the  Captain's  one  chance,  and,  getting  on 
his  knees,  he  tried  the  window,  which,  to  his  relief, 
he  found  was  unfastened.  Not  losing  an  instant, 
he  raised  it  enough  to  gain  entrance,  and  crawled  in. 
Turning,  he  closed  the  window,  at  the  same  time 
looking  to  see  if  the  dragoons  had  discovered  him, 
and  he  breathed  easier  when  he  saw  them  still  intent 
on  their  various  occupations. 

"  Safe  for  the  time  being,  or  at  least  out  of  his 
worst  peril,  Captain  Dick  turned  about.  A  big  four- 
post  bedstead,  with  the  curtains  still  buttoned  to 
gether,  warned  him  that  the  bed  was  probably  still 
occupied,  and  two  pairs  of  heavy  riding  boots  on  the 
floor,  and  sundry  parts  of  uniforms  thrown  on  chairs, 
only  served  to  assure  him  that  he  had  but  changed, 
and  not  escaped  the  dangers  that  beset  him. 

'  Is  that  you,  McCoy  ?  '  asked  a  sleepy  voice  from 
behind  the  curtains. 

"  Close  to  the  window  by  which  he  had  entered 
was  a  door,  and,  as  his  one  chance,  Dick  softly 


A  Family  Tradition  19 

opened  it  and  slipped  through,  to  find  himself  in  a 
closet  redolent  of  lavender. 

"'Is  that  you,  McCoy?'  again  demanded  the 
voice. 

"  '  What  the  deuce  is  the  row?  '  asked  a  second 
voice,  crossly. 

'  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  in  the  room,  man/ 

" '  It  was  your  own  infernal  snoring,  I'll  be 
bound.  Devil  seize  me,  what  a  sweet  thing  life 
would  be  if  there  was  no  going  to  bed  and  no  getting 
up.' 

"  Well.  More  grumbling  followed,  and  then  the 
two  finally  set  on  to  dressing,  no  detail  of  which  is 
worth  mention  save  the  circumstance  that  in  pulling 
on  his  boots,  one  of  the  officers,  by  ill  luck,  chose  to 
lean  against  the  closet  door,  which  promptly  closed 
tight,  and  latched  itself.  At  the  moment  Captain 
Dick  gave  the  tell-tale  click  no  thought,  but  when 
the  men  finally  left  the  room,  and  he  ran  his  hand 
up  and  down  the  door,  to  find  only  a  smooth  surface, 
he  realised  that  by  that  small  accident  he  had  been 
made  a  prisoner.  It  is  true  that  probably  he  could, 
by  bracing  himself,  force  the  latch,  but  on  consid 
eration  he  preferred  not  to  risk  the  noise  of  it,  pre 
ferring  to  wait  the  coming  of  one  of  the  servants, 
knowing  for  certain  that  he  could  trust  any  of  them 
to  release  him  quietly,  and  to  aid  him  in  every  possi 
ble  way.  So  like  a  philosopher  he  settled  himself  on 
the  floor  in  the  most  restful  attitude  he  could  com 
pass,  and  waited. 


2o  A  House  Party 

"  It  seemed  to  him  ages  elapsed  before  any  one 
entered  the  room,  and  when  at  last  some  one  did,  it 
brought  only  disappointment  to  the  prisoner,  for 
the  heavy  stride  bespoke  a  man.  He  was  followed 
presently  by  one  of  the  maids,  and  the  poor  Captain 
was  forced  to  listen  to  a  half-bantering,  half-gallant 
conversation  as  one  made  the  beds  and  tidied  the 
room  and  the  other  polished  the  swords  and  buckles; 
and  apparently  this  semi-flirtation  greatly  length 
ened  the  dual  tasks.  Finally  the  maid  completed  her 
duties  and  departed  to  another  room,  and  then  all 
the  sounds  that  came  to  the  hungry,  sleepy  and  tired 
man  was  the  faint  rubbing  of  brushes  or  chamois. 

"  Suddenly  he  sat  up  from  his  recumbent  position 
against  the  wall,  with  a  consciousness  that  he  had 
been  asleep,  but  for  how  long  he  had  not  the  slight 
est  idea.  For  a  moment  he  was  too  dazed  to  remem 
ber  his  whereabouts,  but  in  a  flash  it  came  back, 
and  he  listened. 

"  '  Capotted,  by  George/  he  heard  a  man  say. 

'  Damn  the  luck,'  muttered  another,  and  then 
followed  the  clink  of  coins.  *  For  heaven's  sake, 
man,  do  deal  faster.' 

A  pause  ensued,  and  then : 

"  '  Seven  in  suit/ 

"  '  Good.' 

"  '  And  a  sixieme/ 

"  '  Good,  curse  it.' 

"  '  And  three  aces/ 

'' '  Not  good.' 


A  Family  Tradition  21 

"  '  Seven  and  sixteen  are  twenty-three,  and  nine 
cards  and  a  card  played  are  thirty-three — Forty- 
three  I  score,  and — Hallo !  What  brings  you,  How- 
gate  ? ' 

"  '  Orders  from  headquarters/  replied  a  new  voice. 
'  The  regiment  is  to  muster  to-morrow  morning  be 
fore  daylight.' 

"'What's  in  the  wind?' 

"  '  Headquarters  don't  tell,  but  as  similar  orders 
have  been  issued  to  seven  other  regiments,  and  as  we 
are  to  embark  our  horses,  'tis  evident  the  Jerseys 
are  to  be  invaded.' 

"  '  Ten  guineas  that  we  eat  our  Christmas  dinner 
in  Philadelphia/  offered  one  of  the  card  players. 

"  '  If  we  don't  meet  with  a  second  White  Plains.' 

"  '  'Tis  on  that  very  fact  I  base  my  offer.  With 
Washington  in  Westchester  we  can  be  well  across 
the  Delaware  before  he  so  much  as  knows  we've 
started.' 

"  As  can  be  imagined,  this  was  news  to  the  Cap 
tain,  which  set  him  to  alternately  blessing  his  stars — 
that  he  should  have  been  in  a  position  to  hear  it — 
and  to  cursing  them — that  that  same  position  al 
lowed  him  to  put  his  knowledge  to  such  little  use. 
After  some  more  talk,  needless  here  to  repeat,  the 
officer  who  had  brought  the  order  departed,  and  the 
two  resumed  their  card  playing,  to  the  disgust  of  the 
prisoner^  who  fretted  and  fumed  as  he  was  forced 
to  listen  to  the  monotonous  declarations  and  count 
ings,  varied  only  by  the  chink  of  coin  or  the  exclam- 


22  A  House  Party 

ation  of  joy  or  anger  at  some  particular  piece  of  luck, 
either  good  or  bad.  Having  no  idea  how  long  he 
had  slept,  he  could  form  no  conclusion  as  to  the 
probable  time,  save  by  the  fact  that  the  air  of  the 
closet  was  becoming  well-nigh  insupportable.  Yet 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  submit  to  the  enforced 
imprisonment  and  suffocating  atmosphere,  for  a  dis 
covery  was  certain  but  to  make  the  former  more 
serious,  and  probably  only  terminated  by  a  suffoca 
tion  absolutely  fatal. 

"  At  last  a  bell,  which  the  Captain  recognised  as 
that  rung  for  meals,  sounded,  putting  a  finish  to 
the  cards  and  drawing  the  players  downstairs.  Ere 
the  tramp  of  their  boots  had  sounded  through  the 
lower  hall,  Goddard  had  his  back  braced  against 
the  wall,  and  one  foot  on  the  door,  but  then  faltered 
and  waited,  for  he  knew  that  he  could  not  force  his 
way  out  without  noise,  so  he  concluded  to  let  them 
get  well  started  in  their  eating  and  drinking  before 
he  made  the  attempt,  knowing  full  well  that  few 
things  are  so  engrossing  to  human  kind. 

"  To  make  sure  that  his  own  eagerness  should  not 
get  the  better  of  his  prudence,  he  slowly  counted  two 
hundred,  then  braced  himself  and  pushed  on  the 
door,  slowly  increasing  the  pressure.  One  foot 
proving  unequal  to  the  purpose,  he  added  the  second 
one.  This  proved  too  much  for  the  stout  ash,  and, 
though  the  heavy  latch  and  hinges  held  firm,  the 
whole  centre  of  the  door,  both  cross  and  panels, 
suddenly  gave  way  with  a  crash,  which  to  Dick 


A  Family  Tradition  23 

sounded  as  if  the  whole  house  were  coming  down 
about  his  ears. 

"  As  the  wood  caved  outward,  the  Captain  went 
to  the  floor  none  too  lightly.  Without  stopping  to 
pick  himself  up,  he  crawled  through  the  outlet.  In 
the  closet  he  had  planned  out  exactly  what  course  to 
pursue.  If  a  glance  out  of  the  window  showed  him 
a  clear  field,  he  intended  to  descend  as  he  had  come, 
and  to  trust  to  the  fleetness  of  his  legs  and  the 
nearness  of  the  orchards  and  woods  in  making  a 
run  for  it;  but  if  he  saw  that  the  dragoons  still 
blocked  that  road  to  liberty,  then  he  hoped  to  conceal, 
but  not  imprison  himself  in  one  of  the  adjoining 
rooms,  and  to  bide  a  chance  for  actual  escape,  either 
with  or  without  the  aid  of  his  relations. 

"  In  these  carefully  thought  out  plans,  the  Captain 
had  failed  to  take  one  possibility  into  account,  and 
so  he  was  very  much  taken  back  to  find  that  he  had 
crawled  into  an  absolutely  dark  room,  and  that  out 
of  doors  was  equally  dark.  He  had  slept  during  the 
noon-tide  meal  and  that  now  being  discussed  was 
supper. 

Few  minds  act  to  advantage  when  suddenly  sur 
prised,  and  that  of  the  Captain  led  him  to  do  what 
was  probably  the  poorest  thing  he  could  do.  Quite 
ignoring  the  fact  that  if  the  darkness  would  conceal 
him,  it  would  also  conceal  whatever  danger  there 
might  be,  he  carried  out  his  first  intention,  and  rais 
ing  the  window,  he  stepped  out  on  the  roof  of  the 
porch.  He  had  barely  done  so  when  he  became  con- 


24  A  House  Party 

scious  of  men's  voices  below  him,  and  he  realised 
that  an  unknown  number  of  people  were  standing  or 
sitting  on  the  porch.  Barely  was  he  assured  of  this, 
when  his  ears  were  greeted  with  the  demand  from 
below, 

"  '  Hello !     Who's  above  there?  ' 

"  As  quietly  as  was  possible  with  "quickness,  Dick 
stepped  back  through  the  window,  and  went  groping 
his  way  across  the  room.  He  had  lost  precious  time, 
however,  for  as  he  put  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the 
door,  he  heard  steps  outside  in  the  hall.  None  the 
less  he  opened  it  just  enough  to  look  out.  What 
first  caught  his  eye  was  the  flickering  light  of  a 
candle,  carried  by  one  of  the  negro  servants  of  his 
uncle,  but  its  light  also  served  to  reveal  the  unwel 
come  presence  of  two  troopers,  one  standing  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  and  the  second  close  behind  the 
negress. 

"'What  is  it,  Boggs?'  enquired  some  one  on 
the  floor  below. 

"  '  Devil  burn  me,  if  I  know  what  it  was,  Captain,' 
one  of  the  men  replied,  '  but  it  sounded  for  all  the 
world  like  a  twelve-pound  shot  tearing  its  way 
through  a  partition.' 

"  '  Never  mind  what  it  sounded  like.  Look  about 
and  see  what  'twas.' 

"  '  Very  good,  sir/ 

"  '  Oh,  Massa  Soldier,  you  don't  tink  it  wuz  no 
sperit  ? '  questioned  the  negress,  while  she  glanced 
about  apprehensively. 


A  Family  Tradition  25 

"  '  'Twas  a  mighty  solid  one,  if  it  was,'  laughed 
the  dragoon.  '  We'll  look  in  here  first/  he  sug 
gested,  making  a  motion  toward  the  door  of  the 
room  opposite  the  one  in  which  they  stood.  '  Give 
me  the  candle/ 

"'For  de  lub  ob  Heaben,  don't  take  de  light 
away.  Dey  say  de  debil  dun  fly  off  with  folks  some 
times,'  whimpered  the  woman. 

"  '  Nonsense! '  growled  the  man,  and  catching  the 
candle  from  her  hand,  he  disappeared  through  the 
doorway,  leaving  the  hall  in  almost  total  darkness. 

"  It  was  the  condition  for  which  Goddard  had 
been  hoping,  and  he  stole  through  the  doorway  and 
on  tip-toe  groped  his  way  towards  the  stairs,  intend 
ing  to  take  the  soldier  who  stood  at  its  head  by  sur 
prise,  and  then  to  make  a  dash  for  it.  Unfortu 
nately,  the  negress,  in  terror  of  the  darkness,  was 
seeking  to  escape  from  the  upper  hall,  and  so  the  two 
came  into  violent  collision.  This  drew  from  her  o, 
series  of  ear-splitting  shrieks,  and  a  clutch  at  the 
Captain's  arm  so  desperate  that  it  took  all  his 
strength  to  free  himself.  Just  as  he  broke  loose  from 
it,  the  hall  was  lighted  up  by  the  return  of  the 
trooper,  with  the  candle,  from  the  bedroom,  which 
revealed  the  dragoon  still  standing  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

" '  We  have  him/  he  called,  and  the  second 
shouted,  '  Here's  the  thief.' 

"  Quick  as  a  flash  the  Captain  sprang  back 
towards  the  man  with  the  light,  and  with  a  sweep  of 


26  A  House  Party 

his  arm  sent  the  candlestick  flying  from  his  hand; 
this  done,  he  dodged  sideways  as  far  as  the  wall 
would  let  him,  and  then  pressing  as  flat  against  it  as 
he  could,  he  edged  along  it  till  he  reached  the  end  of 
the  baluster.  Guided  by  this,  he  moved  rapidly  to 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  where  he  was  forced  to  halt  a 
moment  to  find  out  the  position  of  the  trooper. 

He  who  had  held  the  candle  was  expressing  his 
opinion  in  unmeasured  Anglo-Saxon,  and  warning 
his  companion  to  look  sharp. 

"  '  Look  sharp ! '  replied  the  soldier  so  near  the 
fugitive  that  it  made  him  jump.  '  Nice  advice  after 
your  letting  the  rogue — ' 

"  There  Goddard's  fist,  full  in  the  face,  cut  short 
the  speech,  and  sent  the  fellow  rolling  downstairs; 
and  his  assailant  followed  almost  as  rapidly.  Be 
fore  the  bottom  was  reached  candles  lighted  the 
lower  hall,  and  Dick  saw  that  if  he  continued  it 
would  only  be  to  rush  into  the  arms  of  three  officers. 
Turning,  with  the  intention  of  retracing  his  steps, 
he  found  the  soldier  awaiting  him  above.  One 
glance  showed  him  the  cause  was  up,  and  with  cool 
ness  and  good  sense  he  calmly  sat  down  on  a 
step. 

"  '  What  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ?  "  Phillis's  voice  asked, 
and  at  the  same  instant  she  and  her  father  appeared 
beside  the  officers. 

"  His  moment  to  collect  himself  served  the  Cap 
tain  in  good  stead,  for  he  had  gathered  his  wits  to 
gether,  and  now,  before  either  of  his  relatives  had 


A  Family  Tradition  27 

GO  much  as  seen,  much  more  recognised  him,  he  said, 
1  Oh,  please,  sir,  Squire  Goelet,  things  look  agin  me, 
but  I  swow  I  didn't  come  to  thieve,  but  only  to  ask  a- 
favour  of  you,  an'  as  you  wuz  at  supper,  Fanny  told 
me  to  go  right  up  and  get  what  I  wanted,  and  I 
hope,  sir,  that  I  didn't  do  wrong,  sir,  and  that  if  I 
did,  you'll  forgive  me,  for  really,  Squire,  I  didn't 
intend  no  offence.'  Goddard  purposely  kept  on  talk 
ing,  first  to  cover  the  very  natural  exclamations  of 
surprise  which  both  Mr.  Goelet  and  his  daughter 
uttered  at  hearing  his  voice,  and  then  to  give  them 
time  to  recover  themselves.  And  as  he  spoke,  he 
rose,  and  slowly  descended  the  stairs.  '  Don't  you 
know  me — Josh  Riley — Squire?'  he  ended,  as  he 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  flight. 

"  '  Whoever  you  are/  growled  the  soldier,  holding 
his  jaw  with  one  hand  and  feeling  his  shoulder  with 
the  other,  '  What  do  you  mean  by — ' 

"  '  Silence ! '  ordered  one  of  the  officers.  '  Do  you 
knew  this  fellow  ?  '  he  asked  of  Mr.  Goelet. 

"  '  Yes.  Yes/  broke  in  Phillis,  with  her  hand  on 
her  father's  arm.  '  It's  just  as  he  says.  He's  Josh 
Riley/ 

"  '  And  what  were  you  doing  upstairs  ?  '  demanded 
the  officer. 

"  '  I  own  it  wuzn't  with  permission/  said  Dick, 
with  a  cringing  manner,  '  but  findin'  the  Squire  wuz 
at  supper,  I  put  it  to  Fanny  if  I  should  disturb  him, 
and  she  said  to  go  right  up.' 

"  '  What  for  ?  '  persisted  the  questioner. 


2  8  A  House  Party 

"  '  Why,  for  the  medicine?,  Kunel/  explained  Dick, 
finding  an  explanation  just  as  he  needed  it. 

"  '  And  did  you  get  it,  Joshua  ?  '  asked  Phillis. 

"  '  No,  Miss  Phillis.  It  wuz  dark,  an'  I  went  ker- 
plump  into  suthin,  and  made  such  a  tarnel  racket  I 
thought  the  house  wuz  comin'  down.  An'  then  I 
heard  folks  a  comin',  an'  thought  I'd  made  too  free 
perhaps,  and  so  I  tried  to  sneak  out,  and  then  I  ran 
into  Dinah,  and  she  set  up  sech  a  screechin'  that  I 
clean  went  off  my  head  and  in  tryin'  to  get  away  I 
knocked  the  light  out  of  the  snoger's  hand  and  hit 
this  one  a  clip  in  the  jaw.  'Deed,  I'm  sorry,  Squire, 
and  Mr.  Officers,  and  I  hope  you  won't  hold  it  up 
agin  me/ 

"  '  Of  course,  you  won't  will  you,  Father?'  re 
marked  Phillis. 

"  '  Why,  certainly  not,  Joshua.  Come  with  me, 
and  ye  shall  drink  a  glass  of  Madeira,  and  then  ye 
shall  have  any  medicine  I  can  give  ye.' 

"  A  general  move  to  the  dining-room  followed, 
Dick  fairly  hugging  himself  over  the  success  of  his 
finesse.  Once  there,  as  the  officers  resumed  their 
seats,  the  host  filled  a  glass  from  the  decanter,  and 
presented  it  to  Goddard. 

"  '  I'll  get  the  medicine  while  you  drink,'  offered 
Phillis.  '  I  hope  your  little  brother  isn't  any  worse?  ' 
'  Thank  'ee,  Miss,  and  may  you  be  rewarded  as 
you  deserve.  He's  about  the  same.' 

"  While  they  were  exchanging  these  remarks,  one 
of  the  officers  rose,  and  went  to  the  hall  door.  From 


A  Family  Tradition  29 

that  coign  of  vantage  he  said  '  I  believe,  I  am  not 
mistaken  in  thinking  we  are  honoured  with  the 
presence  of  Captain  Goddard.' 

"  '  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  ?  '  demanded  a 
fellow  officer. 

"  '  If  you'll  compare  the  portrait  in  the  next  room 
with  Mr.  Joshua  Riley,  I  don't  think  you'll  remain 
in  doubt.' 

"  '  What?  Ho!  A  good  matching  of  the  cards, 
Lieutenant/ 

"  Goddard  drew  a  long  breath.  '  Well,  gentle 
men,'  he  said,  '  as  you  will  have  me  an  officer,  pray 
treat  me  as  one.  I  have  not  tasted  food  or  drink 
since  yesterday  at  four.  May  I  satisfy  nature  a  lit 
tle,  now  that  the  game  is  up  ?  I  pledge  you  my  word 
to  make  no  attempt  to  escape  while  I  eat.' 

"  '  Aye,  sit  down  man,  and  eat  your  fill,'  cried  the 
commander,  '  and  sorry  I  am  for  you.' 

"  Dick  turned  and  took  Miss  Phillis's  hand  and 
kissed  it.  '  I'm  glad  that  you  are  at  the  end  of  it,' 
he  said. 

"  '  What  end  ?  '  enquired  the  girl,  innocently. 

"  '  Of  my  capture,'  replied  Dick,  with  a  slight 
choke.  Then  he  took  his  seat,  only  to  find  that  the 
thirst  and  hunger  which  had  so  tormented  him  in 
the  closet,  were  things  of  the  past.  He  tried  to  eat, 
but  each  mouthful  nearly  strangled  him. 

"  A  strange  quiet,  full  of  significance,  had  come 
over  every  one,  finally  broken  by  Mr.  Goelet  whis 
pering  a  couple  of  questions  to  the  man  on  his  right. 


30  A  House  Party 

"  Nothing,"  the  latter  said  aloud,  after  a  shake  of 
the  head. 

"Not  even  Sir  William?" 

"  No.    It's  too  plain  a  case." 

"  Case  of  what  ?  "  asked  Phillis,  suspiciously. 

"  Nothing,  my  dear,"  replied  her  father,  gently, 
but  she  saw  the  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  Father,  what  is  it?  "  she  cried.  "  Dick,  you  will 
tell  me,"  she  appealed. 

Twice  the  Captain  tried  to  speak,  and  twice  he 
failed;  finally  he  turned  to  Mr.  Goelet.  "  For  God's 
sake,  uncle,  tell  her,"  he  begged. 

"  Come  with  me,  Phillis,"  said  her  father,  rising 
and  going  to  the  door  which  opened  into  the  parlour. 

As  Phillis  was  about  to  follow,  she  halted,  and 
spoke,  "  You  will  not  take  my  cousin  away  to  prison 
before  I  return,  will  you,  Major  Sutherland?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  Miss  Goelet.  I'll  promise  that 
you  have  speech  with  him  before  sending  him  to  the 
Provost." 

After  the  two  were  gone,  the  Major  whispered 
some  orders  to  one  of  the  officers,  and  he,  too,  left 
the  room.  Before  long  he  returned  with  two  troop 
ers  and  reported  that  horses  were  saddled  and  an  es 
cort  waiting. 

"  That  is  all,  Lieutenant.  I  shall  ride  to  the  Pro 
vost  myself,  and  then  report  the  capture  to  Sir 
William.  Will  you  tell  Miss  Goelet  that  we  must 
be  moving?  " 


A  Family  Tradition  31 

Even  as  he  spoke,  Mr.  Goelet  reentered  the  room, 
and  the  Major  repeated  his  request  to  him. 

"  My  daughter,  Sir,  is  naturally  very  much  upset 
by  the  terrible  news  I  was  compelled  to  break  .to  her, 
and  she  begs  you  to  give  her  a  few  moments  to 
recover  herself.  Surely  five  minutes  is  little  to  ask 
for  in  such  a  matter?  " 

"  True,  Mr.  Goelet,  and  I  would  I  might  grant 
more  than  that.  Tell  her  that  her  wish  is  a  com 
mand  to  me/' 

Once  more  Mr.  Goelet  returned  to  the  parlour,  and 
once  more  the  men  in  the  dining  room  relapsed  into 
moody  silence.  It  was  a  woman's — that  is,  a  long — 
five  minutes  they  had  to  wait,  but  at  last,  the  girl, 
looking  very  white,  but  also  contained,  opened  the 
door  of  the  parlour.  She  came  no  farther,  but  from 
that  point  she  said, 

"  Major  Sutherland,  I  have  one  more  request  to 
make,  and  one  that  I  implore  you  to  grant." 

"  But  name  it,  Miss  Goelet." 

"  There  was  more  between  my  cousin  Richard 
and  myself  than  the  world  had  knowledge  of,  and  I 
pray  of  you  that  we  may  say  a  farewell  to  each  other 
in  this  room,  out  of  hearing  of  all  but  ourselves." 

"  It  is  granted,"  assented  the  commander,  "  but  I 
must  first  place  a  man  outside  the  window  and  door 
that—" 

"  'Tis  needless,  sir,  for  we  will  not  close  the  door, 
and  will  stand  in  clear  sight  during  the  whole  inter- 


32  A  House  Party 

view,"  cried  Phillis.  "  Oh,  sir,  do  not  prolong  my 
misery/' 

"  Forgive  me,  but  I  must  take  precautions,  Miss 
Goelet.  However,  this  will  do,  if  you  go  not  out  of 
our  observation/'  he  added,  as,  entering  the  parlour, 
he  bolted  the  window,  and  locking  the  door  into  the 
hall,  put  the  key  into  his  pocket.  Leaving  her,  he 
returned  to  the  dining  room,  and  said  to  Dick, 
"  You  must  take  your  farewell  now,  sir,"  and  then 
took  a  place  at  the  table  from  which  he  could  watch 
the  girl,  who  was  now  standing  beside  the  mantel. 

The  Captain  bowed  his  thanks,  too  deeply  moved 
to  speak,  and  went  to  his  love.  The  Major  saw  him 
take  her  hand,  and  so  they  stood  for  a  moment ;  then 
the  girl's  head  dropped  on  Dick's  shoulder,  and  he 
put  his  arms  about  her.  Ashamed  to  watch,  the 
Major  raised  his  glass  and,  as  he  drank,  looked  at  the 
ceiling.  When  his  head  and  eyes  resumed  their 
normal  position,  he  saw  that  the  only  change  that 
had  taken  place  in  their  position  was  that  now  Miss 
Goelet's  back  was  turned  to  him,  though  her  head 
still  lay  on  Goddard's  shoulder.  With  an  impreca 
tion  on  the  duties  of  soldiering,  the  officer  reached 
out  and  refilled  his  glass  from  the  decanter. 

An  ear-rending  scream  from  the  kitchen,  followed 
by  loud  voices,  broke  on  the  quiet,  and  there  appeared 
in  the  doorway  one  of  the  negro  servants. 

"  Massa  Goelet,  woon  youse  tell  dese  wuthless 
dragoons  ter  behave?  Massa  Officer,  dey  jes  drive 
poor  Dinah  mos  'stracted." 


A  Family  Tradition  33 

"What's  the  matter?"  questioned  Sutherland. 

"Mattah?  Deyse  jis  all  over  everyting — 
Deyse— " 

"  Look  to  it,  Lieutenant,"  ordered  the  Major, 
"  and  see  that  the  men  behave  themselves."  Sud 
denly  realising  that  he  was  looking  towards  the 
kitchen,  he  turned  and  glanced  into  the  parlour,  to 
find  the  lovers  still  standing  as  they  had  been  before 
the  interruption.  Coming  back  to  his  first  intention, 
he  drank  off  his  wine,  and  setting  the  glass  down 
rose  as  he  did  so.  "I  don't  wish  to  be  cruel,  Captain 
Goddard,"  he  said,  "  but  time  presses,  and — " 

"  Just  a  minute  more,"  broke  in  Phillis's  voice, 
and  the  Major  settled  back  into  his  seat,  and  once 
again  filled  and  slowly  emptied  his  glass. 

u  I'll  have  up  another  bottle,  Major,"  suggested 
Mr.  Goelet. 

"  Not  for  me,  thank  you,  for  I  must  be  in  the  sad 
dle  and  attending  to  this  wretched  business,"  replied 
the  officer  as  he  pushed  his  chair  back,  and  walked 
to  the  parlour  doorway.  "  I  must  ask  you  to  come 
now,  Captain,"  he  said. 

The  pair  remained  motionless,  and  again  Suther 
land  started  to  repeat  his  request.  Before  it  was  half 
uttered,  he  sprang  forward,  only  to  find  Phillis  with 
icr  arms  about  the  picture  of  the  Captain,  which 
tiad  been  hastily  cut  from  its  frame,  while  the  open 
window,  hitherto  concealed  from  him  by  the  chim 
ney  breast,  told  an  equally  plain  story.  The  whole 
thing  had  been  planned  out  before  her  return  to  the 


34  A  House  Party 

dining-room,  the  picture  cut  out  from  its  background 
with  a  knife,  rolled  up  and  put  on  the  mantel,  and 
Dinah  instructed  to  create  the  diversion  she  so  suc 
cessfully  did,  during  which,  of  course,  Master  Dick 
was  whisked  behind  the  chimney  breast  where  he 
could  unbolt  and  raise  the  window,  while  Miss 
Phillis  held  his  canvas  simulation  to  her  heart.  And 
so  now  you  have  the  story  of  those  humpy  lines  in 
the  portrait,  and  my  only  wonder  is  that  they  don't 
show  more." 

"And  did  he  escape?"  asked  some  one  of  the 
house  party. 

"  '  Did  he  escape  ?  '  What  a  question  to  ask !  Do 
you  suppose  he  could  be  recaptured  after  all  that? 
No,  he  safely  reached  Washington's  camp  with  his 
information,  of  course,  the  Continental  army  was 
shifted  at  once  to  New  Jersey,  held  the  British  in 
check  as  long  as  it  could,  and  finally,  at  Trenton  and 
Princeton,  saved  our  nation." 

"  And  did  Phillis  and  he  marry  ?  "  asked  a  femi 
nine  listener. 

"  Of  course,  again !  Don't  you  know  that  her 
saving  him  in  that  way,  according  to  all  the  rules 
of  romance  was  the  next  thing  to  a  clergyman  and 
a  ring?" 

"  How  delightful  to  have  a  portrait  with  such  a 
history!"  sighed  a  sentimental  maiden  of  name 
less  years.  "  I  should  think  you'd  be  so  proud  of 
your  ancestor,  Mrs.  Goddard." 

"  I  always  have  been,"  acceded  the  hostess. 


A  Family  Tradition  35 

"  And  from  to-night  I  think  my  cousin  will  be 
prouder  than  ever,  I  predict,"  asserted  the  story 
teller,  "  because  much  of  this  was  new  to  her,  and  I 
think  she  ought  to  thank  me  for  grubbing  it  out 
of  musty  old  papers." 

"  But  I  say,"  remarked  one  of  the  older  men, 
"  that  English  major  was  five  kinds  of  a  fool  it 
seems  to  me." 

"  I  think  he  was  fairly  typical  of  the  British 
officer,"  agreed  the  story  teller. 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  could  mistake 
the  portrait  for  the  prisoner,  with  the  one  in  full 
uniform  and  three-cornered  hat,  and  the  other  in 
farmer's  clothes,  and  I  presume  from  what  he  had 
gone  through,  bareheaded?  "  demanded  an  objector. 

"  You  are  one  of  the  fellows  whom  it  is  impossi 
ble  to  please,"  protested  Mr.  Goddard.  "  I've  told 
you  the  story;  now  why  do  you  want  to  pick  holes 
in  it?" 

"  But  it's  impossible  to  believe  that  he—" 

"  Oh,  dear,  here's  another  one.  You  wanted  a 
story,  and  I've  done  my  best.  If  you  had  asked  for 
history,  I'd  have  taken  down  one  of  the  reports  of 
the  Historical  Manuscripts  Commission,  over  there, 
and  read  aloud  to  you  a  series  of  documents.  But 
that  isn't  what  you,  or  the  public  want,  and  you  know 
it.  An  ox  team  couldn't  drag  either  of  you  to  spend 
an  hour  on  such  a  book.  '  Tell  us  a  story,'  you 
beg,  '  in  which  the  daring  hero  gets  idiotically  into 
the  most  desperate  of  dangers,  and  just  as  every- 


36  A  House  Party 

thing  is  lost,  let  the  brave  and  beautiful  heroine  save 
him  by  some  wonderful  device,  and  let  him  save 
the  country,  and  when  the  dove  of  peace  appears 
with  the  olive  branch,  which  but  for  these  twain 
would  never  have  been,  let  them  be  married,  under 
the  stars  and  stripes,  and  roses.'  '  But  be  sure,'  you 
add,  '  that  your  story  is  a  true  one,  with  no  inac 
curacy  or  improbability  to  mar  its  artistic  verisimili 
tude.'  Why  don't  you  ask  for  a  truthful  lie,  and 
have  done  with  it?  " 

"  But,  Harold,  the  story  you've  just  told  us  is 
true,  isn't  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  Not  a  word  of  it  cousin/' 

"  Oh,  but  that  won't  do,"  said  the  objector,  "  be 
cause  otherwise  why  was  the  portrait  cut  from  the 
frame?" 

"  As  it  happens,"  ended  Mr.  Goddard,  "  the  por 
trait  of  Captain  Dick  is  in  the  possession  of  an  aunt 
of  mine,  and  this  is  a  copy  of  it  made  some  twenty 
years  ago.  When  I  succeeded,  at  the  opening  of 
my  tale  in  getting  you  all  to  see  the  pretended 
ridges  of  paint,  I  said  to  myself,  '  We  are  in  for  an 
entertaining  evening,  for  here  is  a  crowd  with  plenty 
of  imagination.' ' 

"  I  think  it  shabby  of  you,  Harold,  to  fool  us  all 
so,"  complained  Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  And  then  go  and  tell  us,"  added  a  girl,  "  for 
otherwise  we'd  have  all  believed  it." 

"  It  would  have  been  such  a  nice  story  to  tell  to 
people  about  the  portrait,"  sighed  its  owner. 


A  Family  Tradition  37 

"  And  why  not  now  ?  "  questioned  Harold  God- 
dard,  "  for  it's  just  as  true  as  most  of  family  tradi 
tions." 

"  How  dare  you  make  such  an  assertion,  with 
three  Colonial  Dames  present  ?  "  laughed  a  man. 
"  Aren't  you  afraid  they'll  quarrel  with  you?  " 

'*  The  Colonial  Dames  are  too  busy  quarrelling 
with  each  other  to  waste  powder  on  me,"  responded 
the  story-teller.  "  Even  the  Revolution  pales  as  a 
war  when  compared  with  the  fierce  contests  of  the 
so-called  '  patriotic  societies.' ' 

"  I  won't  sit  here  and  listen  to  such  slurs,"  pro 
tested  one  of  the  Dames,  who  was  of  an  age  that  had 
she  been  termed  such  in  any  other  sense,  she  would 
have  been  deeply  insulted.  "  Furthermore,  I'm 
going  to  tell  you  a  family  tradition  that  is  as  true  as 
yours  was — otherwise — and  if  any  one  dares  to  so 
much  as  question  it,  or  treat  it  disrespectfully! — " 
There  she  ended,  leaving  her  threat  all  the  more 
terrible  by  its  vagueness. 

"  See  how  artfully  Miss  Blake  forestalls  the  in 
terruptions  and  scepticism  which  spoiled  my  story," 
murmured  Harold  Goddard. 

"  You've  had  your  turn,  Harold.  Now  do  be 
still,"  requested  the  hostess. 

"  Some  sixty  years  ago — "  began  the  volun 
teer. 

"  I  knew  she  was  no  spring  chicken,  but  I  never 
would  have  put  her  down  for  sixty,"  whispered  an 
irrepressible  youth  to  the  girl  next  him. 


38  A  House  Party 

"What  is  that  you  said,  Mr.  Reynolds?"  de 
manded  the  woman  of  untold  years. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon/'  stuttered  the  criminal,  "  I 
—I  only—" 

"  Mr.  Reynolds  said  he  always  wanted  a  title," 
said  the  girl,  helping  him  out. 

"Well,  to  satisfy  him,  I'll  call  it:  ARTE 
MISIA'S  MIRROR." 


ARTEMISIA'S  MIRROR 


SOME   sixty  years   ago,    there   lived   in   New 
York  in  a  tiny  frame  cottage  in  Greenwich 
village,  a  little  girl  who  had  three  names.     To 
her  mother  and  her  grandfather,  she  was  Pet;    to 
her  mates,  she  was  Arty ;  but  on  the  record  page  of 
the  family  Bible,  and,  alack  and  alas,  on  the  sampler 
her  mother  had  marked  out  for  her,  she  was  Arte 
misia  Vanderhooven. 

In  defiance  of  her  Dutch  name,  she  was  dark-eyed 
and  dark-haired,  quick  and  graceful  in  her  motions 
as  a  kitten,  quick,  too,  in  her  temper,  impatient,  rest 
less  as  quicksilver,  fond  of  playing  with  boys,  hating 
everything  quiet  and  dutiful.  Such  was  the  child 
who  was  set  down  on  summer  afternoons  to  record 
in  weary  stitches  with  a  fine  disregard  of  rhythm, 

that 

Artemisia  Vanderhooven  is  my  name 

America  is  my  nation 
New  York  is  my  dwelling  place 

And  Christ  is  my  salvation. 

And  furthermore,  as  if  one  stanza  were  not 
enough  for  mortal  flesh  to  toil  through, 

When  I  am  dead  and  in  my  grave 

And  all  my  bones  are  rotten 
I  leave  these  verses  after  me 

That  I  be  not  forgotten. 
39 


40  A  House  Party 

It  was  Pet's  miserable  conviction  that  she  should 
be  in  her  grave  before  the  very  first  line  of  the 
memorial  was  finished,  so  many  times  did  the  silk 
tangle  and  break,  the  needle  rust  in  the  little  hot 
fingers,  or  the  scissors  take  to  themselves  wings  and 
fly  away.  Three  times  during  the  progress  of  that 
first  line  did  her  relentless  mother  make  Pet  rip  out 
every  stitch.  Nor  was  the  appearance  of  the  sampler 
improved  when  used  for  wiping  away  tears. 

The  only  drop  of  sweet  in  Pet's  bitter  cup  was 
that  sometimes  on  very  hot  days,  when  there  was 
not  a  breath  of  air  in  the  little  house,  she  was  al 
lowed  to  take  her  sewing  out  into  the  garden,  where 
Grandsir  worked  among  his  lilacs  and  May  roses, 
his  tulips  and  hyacinths,  his  hearts-ease  and  London 
pride.  The  garden  was  a  haven  of  peace,  for  Grand- 
sir  never  admonished  one — on  the  contrary,  he  often 
seemed  to  forget  one's  presence.  But  to  be  forgotten 
was  so  far  preferable  to  being  remembered  too 
strenuously,  that  Pet  had  no  fault  to  find  with  him. 
She  was  his  hot  champion  against  all  criticism, — 
none  the  less  ardent  that  the  chief  criticism — her 
mother's — was  all  unspoken.  Never  had  Pet  heard 
her  mother  say  an  unkind  word  of  Grandsir;  yet, 
with  the  keen  intuition  of  childhood,  she  divined  her 
mother's  disapproval  of  his  queer  ways — his  con 
tinual  pottering  over  the  flowers,  his  Indian-like 
silences.  This  tacit  reproach  it  was  impossible  to 
combat,  but  when  her  playmate,  Millie  Kennedy, 
once  said  that  her  father  said  that  old  Mr.  Vander- 


Artemisia's  Mirror  41 

hooven  was  cracked,  Pet,  though  by  no  means  sure 
what  cracked  meant,  slapped  Millie,  pulled  her  hair, 
and  drove  her  home  weeping.  Pet  was  no  Griselda. 

Grandsir  was  trimming  the  box  hedges  one  after 
noon,  looking,  as  he  moved  slowly  about, — a  silent 
bowed  figure,  with  long  white  beard  and  shining 
shears, — rather  like  Father  Time  himself.  Pet,  sit 
ting  with  her  work-box  on  the  step  of  the  grape- 
arbour,  was  moved  to  help  him.  With  her  own  little 
scissors  she  began  snipping  off  box  leaves,  till,  the 
scissors  catching  on  a  stiff  twig,  they  flew  out  of  her 
hand  into  the  heart  of  the  hedge.  Pet  jumped  up  to 
rescue  them,  when  over  went  the  work-box,  its  spools 
and  skeins  and  needle  books  and  emery  and  tape- 
measure  all  rolling  about  in  the  flowers  and  grass. 
She  stamped  her  feet  with  rage ;  then,  creeping  about 
on  her  knees  to  pick  up  her  work,  she  stained  with 
loam  the  front  of  her  white  frock.  Her  one  white 
frock  had  been  put  on  to  go  to  Millie's  house  to  sup 
per,  and  now  Mother  would  never  let  her  go.  Unless 
perhaps,  she  should  work  so  much  and  so  diligently, 
all  afternoon,  that  Mother  would  forgive  her.  With 
the  fever  of  desperation,  she  bent  over  her  sampler. 

Presently  Grandsir  came  nearer.  Pet  looked  up 
and  smiled  as  he  approached — she  always  smiled 
when  he  came  by,  as  one  does  at  a  baby.  And  now, 
for  a  miracle,  Grandsir  withdrew  himself  from  the 
land  of  dreams  where  he  walked  alone,  and  put  his 
hand  on  her  flushed  brow,  and  said 

"What's  the  matter  with  Grandsir's  Pet?" 


42  A  House  Party 

She  would  not  tell  him  about  the  frock,  for  she 
knew  she  should  cry,  and  lose  time  from  the  sampler, 
so  she  burst  out 

"  I  hate  my  name !  " 

"  Artemisia  ?  "  said  Grandsir  softly,  puzzledwise. 

"  Artemisia  Vanderhooven !  "  cried  that  young 
person  in  accents  of  wrath. 

"  Twenty-one  letters  to  work.  Look  at  mother's 
little  name,  Jane  Platt — Why  didn't  they  call  me 
Jane  ?  Artemisia !  I  hate  Artemisia ! 

"  But  her  name  was  Artemisia,"  said  Grandsir, 
gently. 

"  My  grandmother's  ?  "  Pet  remembered  the  fact 
suddenly,  and  dropped  her  angry  voice  a  key.  She 
must  have  hurt  Grandsir's  feelings.  Oh,  day  of  mis 
fortune!  But  he  was  never  angry  with  her,  and 
after  a  moment,  she  ventured 

"  And  did  she  like  her  name,  Grandsir  ?  " 

"She  liked  it,"  said  Grandsir,  "and  I  liked 
it." 

The  haze  that  separated  him  from  this  world's 
doings  came  into  his  eyes  again,  and  he  spoke  no 
more,  and  turned  away  to  his  work.  But  Pet  was 
not  done  with  the  subject.  The  marvel  of  an  Arte 
misia  who  liked  the  name  absorbed  her.  She  rose 
and  slipped  her  hand  into  the  old  man's,  rubbing 
against  his  side  like  a  kitten. 

"  Why  did  she  like  it,  Grandsir  dear?  " 

Grandsir  was  that  adorable  being,  a  person  who 
never  joked.  When  others  gave  her  an  answer  she 


Artemisia's  Mirror  43 

could  not  understand,  cruel  experience  had  taught 
her  to  suspect  witticisms  at  her  expense;  but  Grand- 
sir's  mysterious  replies  always  had  sense  in  them,  if 
you  could  only  work  it  out.  He  was  so  old  and 
could  tell  so  much  if  he  would.  It  often  seemed 
when  with  him  as  if  she  stood  on  the  very  threshold 
of  a  store-house  packed  full  of  forgotten  treasures; 
and  never  had  she  felt  the  explorer's  thrill  more 
vividly  than  now,  when  he  answered  at  length,  after 
a  pause  so  long  that  she  feared  he  would  not  answer 
at  all— 

"  On  account  of  the  mirror,  I  think." 
She  paused  an  instant,  almost  afraid  to  breathe, 
lest  the  treasure-house  door  close  upon  her;  but  he 
did  not  speak  again;  and  finally,  very  softly,  as  one 
who  fears  to  frighten  some  shy  wood-creature,  she 
repeated 

"The  mirror,  sir?" 
This  time  the  answer  came  at  once, 
"  Cellini's  mirror — Artemisia's  mirror." 
"  Did  the  mirror  belong  to  her,  Grandsir  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  he  answered.     And  now  a  strange  thing 
happened.     The  old  man's  placid  face  which,  like 
the  faces  of  the  gods — or  the  dumb  brutes — neither 
laughed  nor  wept,  broke  into  a  smile.     His  voice 
changed  with  it,  and  from  an  absent  murmur  as  of 
one  talking  in  a  dream  took  on  a  louder,  livelier, 
human  tone.    "  At  least,  she  took  it,  when  she  came 
with  me.     She  said  no  one  had  a  better  right.     Her 
name  was  on  the  frame." 


•  44  A  House  Party 

Pet  sighed  with  rapture.  The  past,  the  mysteri 
ous,  the  miraculous  was  unrolling  before  her. 

"  What  did  it  look  like,  Grandsir?  " 

He  seemed  surprised. 

"  The  child's  seen  it." 

"  No,  Grandsir,  never,"  she  protested.  Could  it 
be  that  the  mirror  existed?  The  mirror  with  her 
name — her  own  name,  despised  no  longer — on  the 
frame  ? 

"  It's  put  away  for  you,"  said  Grandsir.  "  For 
little  Artemisia." 

She  jumped  up  and  down  in  joy. 

"  Oh,  Grandsir,  when  can  I  have  it?  I  don't  hate 
the  name  now,  I  love  it.  Oh,  when  may  I  have  it?  " 

The  haze  crept  over  Grandsir's  face  again.  "  Your 
mother " 

"  Oh,  no,  Grandsir,"  the  child  cried.  "  It  isn't 
mother's.  It's  just  yours  and  mine.  Oh,  please, 
Grandsir.  I'd  be  so  careful  of  it.  I  love  it  so." 

Mother  never  would  have  listened  for  a  moment, 
but  Grandsir,  the  only  reasonable  grown-up  person 
whom  Pet  had  ever  seen,  seemed  to  appreciate  the 
justice  of  the  argument. 

"You  would  love  it,  wouldn't  you?"  he  said. 
"  She  loved  it  too.  She  loved  it  dearly.  She  had 
it  in  her  hand  when  he  killed  her." 

"  Oh,  Grandsir !  "  the  child  cried,  her  eyes  wide 
in  horror.  "Did  some  one  kill  your  Artemisia?" 

The   cloud    came   over  the    old    man's  face;    he 


Artemisia's  Mirror  45 

frowned  and  clenched  his  fingers,  in  vain  effort  to 
think. 

"  I  think  they  let  him  off,"  he  muttered  at  length. 
"  It  was  a  long  time  ago.  I  presume  "  he  added, 
with  a  pathetic  struggle  for  self-respect,  "  I  presume 
I  never  inquired  just  what  happened."  He  turned 
away  mechanically  to  his  clipping,  but  Pet  clutched 
his  arm. 

"  But  the  mirror,  Grandsir.  Won't  you  let  Arte 
misia  have  the  mirror?  " 

He  said  never  a  word,  but  went  straight  into  the 
house  and  got  it  for  her. 

It  was  a  silver-framed  glass,  about  twelve  inches 
square,  surrounded  by  a  ring  of  laughing  cupids, 
pelting  one  another  with  roses.  Over  the  glass  was 
a  coat  of  arms;  below,  another,  but  quite  different. 
On  the  right,  running  down  the  frame,  was  the 
name  of  Artemisia,  and  opposite,  on  the  left,  the 
name  of  Odoardo. 

"  But  who  was  Odoardo?  "  cried  Pet,  as  she  took 
the  treasure  into  her  eager  hands. 

Then,  bit  by  bit,  day  by  day,  the  story  of  the 
mirror  was  revealed. 

Somewhat  to  her  surprise,  Pet  was  allowed  to 
keep  the  dear  possession.  Her  mother  feared  it 
would  make  her  a  very  vain  little  girl.  "  But,"  said 
honest  Pet,  to  whom  had  never  occurred  the  notion 
of  using  Artemisia's  mirror  to  look  at  herself  in,  "  I 
don't  care  about  it  because  it's  a  looking-glass;  I 


46  A  House  Party 

care  about  it  because  it  has  my  name  on  it."  And 
her  mother,  seeing  the  child  hug  it  in  her  arms,  had 
not  the  heart  to  take  it  away. 

Now  were  the  sewing-hours,  hours  of  joy.  Pet 
would  take  her  little  chair  into  the  garden,  plant  it 
close  to  whatever  flower-bed  was  absorbing  Grand- 
sir,  sit  down  with  the  sacred  mirror  on  her  knees, — 
for  all  her  heedless  ways  she  never  once  scratched  or 
dented  it — and  ply  the  old  gentleman  with  questions. 
And  from  what  he  told,  and  what  her  mother  knew, 
and  what,  later,  her  own  imagination  supplied  to 
her,  she  constructed  the  history  of  the  mirror. 

About  1527  I  suppose,  at  all  events,  when  the 
question  of  King  Henry  VIII. 's  divorce  was  first 
broached,  and  the  king  and  his  Holy  Father  at  Rome 
were  the  best  friends  in  the  world,  a  certain  young 
courtier  named  Edward  Sutton  was  despatched  to 
the  Vatican,  to  breathe  privily  into  Clement's  ear 
a  moving  account  of  his  Majesty's  sufferings  by 
reason  of  his  unchurchly  marriage.  That  he  Ed 
ward,  accomplished  much  for  his  master,  history 
does  not  show,  but  he  did  very  well  for  himself  when 
he  married  the  beauty  and  heiress,  Artemisia  Vis- 
conti.  Jewels  and  plate  and  gold  coin  he  carried 
back  to  England  in  his  wife's  coffers,  and,  dearest  to 
Artemisia  of  all  her  gear,  her  father's  gift,  the 
mirror.  The  glass  was  dull,  to  be  sure,  and  flawed 
here  and  there,  like  a  pond  on  a  gusty  day;  for 
mirror-making  was  an  infant  industry  then,  carried 
on  with  infantile  skill.  But  Artemisia,  never  having 


Artemisia's  Mirror  47 

seen  better,  was  quite  satisfied.  And  who  indeed 
would  think  of  defects  in  the  glass,  when  Cellini 
had  made  the  frame?  Artemisia  never  went  from 
London  to  Sutton  Housq  (the  Dominican  priory 
which  the  King  had  wrenched  from  the  Monks  for 
his  favourite  Sir  Edward),  without  the  loved  mirror. 
It  was  unpacked  and  placed  in  her  bedchamber,  even 
at  the  roadside  inns  where  she  passed  a  night,  and  in 
the  morning  packed  again,  oh,  so  carefully,  and 
strapped  to  my  lady's  own  saddle  for  the  next  day's 
ride.  The  mirror  hung,  very  epitome  of  worldliness, 
on  the  grey  priory  wall  where  never  mirror  had 
hung  before,  and  watched  all  the  junketings  of  the 
idle  triflers  that  passed  before  it.  The  old  walls, 
that  never  since  their  building  had  beheld  aught  but 
black-gowned  monks  at  their  sombre  duties  and  bare 
refections  must  have  looked  in  horrified  amaze  on 
the  feasts,  the  games,  the  dancing,  the  gay  plumage 
of  women  and  men.  But  the  mirror,  born,  like  its 
mistress,  in  mirth-loving  Italy,  beamed  approval. 
From  its  high  place,  like  a  king  on  his  dais,  it  pre 
sided  over  masque  and  rout,  and  gave  smiling  sanc 
tion  to  all.  It  felt,  doubtless — how  should  a  mirror 
guess  otherwise  ? — that  all  passing  and  repassing  be 
fore  its  glass,  all  actions  within  its  sight,  were  but 
a  pageant  arranged  for  its  pleasure.  Like  the  King 
in  his  box  at  the  play,  it  graciously  rewarded  the 
actors  by  giving  back  smile  for  smile  when  the  piece 
was  gay,  and  sympathetic  frowns  when  lowering 
Tragedy  showed  her  face.  And,  greatest  tribute  of 


48  A  House  Party 

all,  the  mirror  paid  the  players  the  courtesy  of  unflag 
ging  attention.  Day  in,  day  out,  season  by  season, 
year  by  year,  be  the  piece  gay  or  be  the  piece  dull, 
absorbing  drama  or  veriest  farce,  the  mirror  with 
unwearied  patience,  watched,  watched,  always 
watched.  All  the  days  of  her  life,  it  watched  the 
lady  of  Sutton,  and  when  at  length  the  name  of 
Artemisia  Visconti  was  carved  beside  the  English 
Kates  and  Elizabeths  in  Sutton  church,  it  watched 
her  children. 

It  almost  forgot  Benvenuto's  workshop,  or  Arte 
misia's  bridal  chamber,  overlooking  the  Tiber,  so 
overlaid  were  those  pictures  by  the  swift,  changing 
visions  of  the  Priory.  For  two  hundred  years  and 
more,  the  mirror  hung  in  the  great  hall  reflecting 
marriage  feast  and  funeral  breakfast,  peace  and  war, 
retinues  of  Tudors,  Stuarts,  Brunswicks.  It  nearly 
lost  its  Priory  home  under  Catholic  Mary,  only  to 
have  its  right  confirmed  by  Protestant  Elizabeth.  It 
saw  the  stately  first  Charles  when  once  he  spent  a 
night  at  Sutton  House;  what  it  did  not  see, — it 
was  hidden  in  the  cellars  lest  it  should  see  or  be  seen 
— was  the  nag  of  a  roundhead  trooper  tied  to  the 
very  hook  where  itself  had  hung  so  long.  But  at 
length  the  land  was  at  peace  again,  and  Cellini's 
mirror  took  its  old  proud  place.  Where  it  had  been 
for  a  hundred  years,  there  it  remained  for  a  hundred 
more,  and  ought,  so  the  Suttons  aver,  to  be  hanging 
to-day.  But  we  Vanderhoovens  hold  otherwise. 


Artemisia's  Mirror  49 

We  maintain  that  the  mirror  is  ours,  on  stronger 
testimony  than  that  of  the  Suttons — the  mirror's 
own. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  there  dwelt 
in  Sutton  House  another  Artemisia.  Dark-haired 
she  was,  like  her  remote  ancestress,  with  a  clear  skin, 
flushing  and  paling  as  she  talked,  and  brown  eyes 
looking  out  eagerly  on  life,  demanding  of  it  some 
thing  more  than  the  pompous  comfort  to  which  she 
had  been  born.  A  summer  in  London,  a  winter  in 
Bath,  marriage  with  a  neighbouring  squire,  servants 
to  manage,  tenants  to  patronise,  the  still-room  to 
order,  music  to  copy,  and  accounts  to  keep, — these 
satisfied  her  sisters,  but  Artemisia,  lying  wide-eyed 
in  bed  o'nights,  had  dreams  of  a  wider  world.  The 
moment  was  ripe  for  the  fairy  prince,  and  lo,  he 
appeared.  His  name  was  Hendrick  Vanderhooven, 
and  he  came  from  the  United  States  of  America, 
from  a  place  bearing  the  extraordinary  name  of 
Schenectady.  He  was  young,  handsome,  a  gentle 
man's  son,  but,  above  all,  he  was  different.  This 
difference  was  his  conquering  charm,  assisted  by  the 
fact  that  from  a  parent's  point  of  view  he  was 
utterly  ineligible.  In  the  first  place  'he  came  from 
the  rebellious  colony,  where  hardly  thirty  years  be 
fore,  the  Earl  of  Button's  regiment  had  suffered 
grievous  rout,  the  recollection  of  which  stung  Lord 
Sutton  even  now.  And  besides  rumours  of  a  new 
war  filled  the  air. 

To  the  deadly  crime  of  being  an  American,  Hen- 


^o  A  House  Party 

drick  added  the  unforgivable  sin  of  being  a  younger 
son.  In  Lord  Sutton's  opinion,  human  depravity 
could  no  farther  go.  The  sobbing  Artemisia,  told 
that  her  family  blushed  for  her,  retorted  that  they 
need  not  blush  for  her  long.  This  was  interpreted  to 
be  a  threat  of  dying  of  a  broken  heart,  and  was  pooh- 
poohed  accordingly.  The  family  mistook  Artemisia. 
One  midnight,  a  little  figure,  clad  in  a  kitchen- 
maid's  home-spun  gown,  stole  from  stair  to  stair 
with  a  lightness  of  tread  no  kitchen-maid  ever  at 
tained.  The  hob-nailed  shoes  were  in  one  hand;  in 
the  other  she  carried,  tied  together  in  a  stout  gray 
shawl,  those  worldly  possessions  which  she  had 
thought  suitable  to  begin,  with  her,  her  new  life  on 
the  new  continent.  Fifty  years  afterward,  the  man 
who  had  awaited  her  in  the  garden  that  night  named 
over  to  her  granddaughter  every  article  that  the 
English  Artemisia  carried  in  her  shawl.  The  little 
garden  in  Christopher  Street  was  as  like  as  love  and 
pains  could  make  it,  to  the  great  garden  at  Sutton 
House;  Hendrick  Vanderhooven,  who  could  not  re 
member  on  Sunday,  the  thing  you  had  told  him  on 
Saturday,  yet  remembered  every  turn  of  the  walks 
in  Sutton  House  garden — and  what  flowers  grew 
in  every  bed.  He  would  forget  his  breakfast,  if 
Pet  did  not  lead  him  in  to  his  place,  but  he  knew 
after  fifty  years,  the  fashion  of  Artemisia's  trousseau. 
First  the  skimp  white  satin  gown  in  which  she  had 
been  presented  at  court,  and  in  which  she  hoped 
to  conquer  the  hearts  of  her  new  and  formidable 


Artemisia's  Mirror  51 

kinsfolk,  the  feathered  turban,  the  mitts,  the  silk 
stockings  and  white  sandals.  Then  her  prayer  book, 
and  Belinda  Daphne,  the  doll  given  her  on  her  third 
birthday,  and  her  gold  neck-chain  and  locket  with 
her  mother's  picture  in  it;  and  a  curl  of  her  bosom 
friend  Lady  Betty  Arminster's  hair,  and  a  copy  of 
the  Gentlemen's  Magazine  for  February,  1811,  con 
taining  An  Address  in  Rhyme  to  Miss  A.  S.  on  her 
Arrival  in  Bath;  and  a  water  colour  of  Sutton  House, 
executed  by  herself  with  much  assistance  from  her 
drawing  master.  Also,  four  pounds,  seven  and  four 
pence,  in  gold  and  silver,  her  India  shawl  that  her 
uncle  William  had  brought  her  from  Calcutta,  and 
a  stuffed  paroquet  from  the  same  source,  which,  all 
through  her  childish  years,  had  been  Belinda's  rival 
in  her  deepest  affections.  She  was  afraid  Hendrick 
might  laugh  at  Belinda  and  the  paroquet,  but  she 
could  not  steel  her  heart  to  the  parting.  Last  of 
all,  this  practical  young  person  insured  Hendrick 
and  herself  from  starvation  on  their  road  to  Gretna, 
by  providing  half  a  loaf  of  plum-cake.  Thus 
equipped,  she  felt  herself  competent  to  face  stormy 
seas  and  even  a  stormy  father-in-law.  But  as  she 
stood  in  the  little  back  hall,  with  her  hand  on  the 
latch  of  the  window,  she  came  to  a  sudden  pause, 
then,  putting  down  her  shoes  and  bundle,  felt  her 
way  along  the  walls  to  the  door  at  the  end  of  the 
passage.  Down  another  corridor  she  groped  her 
noiseless  way,  and  out  into  the  old  hall  where  the 
monks  had  eaten  their  black  bread  and  lentils,  and 


52  A  House  Party 

straight  to  the  spot  where  hung  Artemisia's  mirror. 
For  one  moment  she  hesitated,  conscience  warring 
with  desire,  but  when  Hendrick  rose  from  behind 
the  holly  bush  to  seize  her,  she  panted,  "  There,  take 
that,"  and  thrust  the  mirror  into  his  hands.  It 
was  rightly  hers,  she  argued,  since  it  bore  her  name. 
In  the  fair  sweet  evening  at  sea,  as  the  ship  sailed 
into  the  sunset,  she  confided  to  Hendrick,  how  she 
sometimes  fancied  herself  that  same  Artemisia  for 
whom  the  mirror  was  wrought,  and  who  so  long  ago 
bore  it  when  a  bride  over  strange  seas  to  her  hus 
band's  home.  In  pursuit  of  the  fancy,  she  loved  to 
call  Hendrick,  Odoardo,  or  Sir  Edward,  Knight  of 
St.  George. 

That  early  time  was  what  Grandsir  loved  best  to 
talk  about,  nor  could  Pet  draw  from  him  any  but  a 
vague  and  confused  account  of  later  happenings  of 
how  the  young  couple  had  gone  to  his  father's  home 
in  Schenectady,  and  then  to  Hendrick's  farm  farther 
to  the  West,  where  they  built  a  fair  brick  house  and 
named  it  Sutton  House,  and  laid  out  terraces  and 
gardens  after  those  at  the  old  home  in  England. 
And  there  Pet's  father  was  born  and  his  mother 
called  him  the  little  lord  of  the  manor. 

"  Why  don't  we  live  there  now,  Grandsir  ?  "  was 
Pet's  natural  question. 

Grandsir's  face  clouded  pitifully  and  the  slow 
tears  filled  his  old  eyes,  while  he  answered  pitifully 
that  he  didn't  know ;  Dirck  had  driven  him  away. 


Artemisia's  Mirror  53 

"  But  how  could  Dirck  drive  you  and  grand 
mother  away?  "  the  child  persisted. 

"  She  was  dead,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Artemisia 
was  dead."  He  began  to  cry  hopelessly  and  Pet 
climbed  on  his  knees  and  comforted  him,  and  asked 
him  no  more  questions.  But  she  asked  her  mother 
who  was  Dirck. 

"  Has  your  grandfather  been  talking  to  you  about 
Dirck?''  Mrs.  Vanderhooven  answered,  a  little 
startled,  it  seemed.  "  I  never  heard  him  so  much 
as  mention  Dirck's  name.  I  thought  he'd  forgotten. 
Dirck  was  his  twin  brother." 

"  He  says  Dirck  drove  him  from  his  home !  "  Pet 
cried. 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story,  Artemisia,"  her 
mother  said.  "  You're  old  enough  to  hear  it  now. 
and  you  couldn't  understand  it  from  Grandsir." 
Pet,  with  a  fearful  joy,  composed  herself  to  listen; 
fearful, — for  she  knew  the  story  concerned  her 
grandmother's  death,  and  her  grandmother  was 
killed,  Grandsir  had  said;  joyous — with  the  joy  of 
childhood  in  stories  and  mysteries. 

"  Your  grandfather's  house — " 

"  Sutton  House ;  "  Pet  murmured  to  herself. 

" — was  burned  down.  One  of  the  farm  hands — 
his  name  was  Edward  Day — set  it  on  fire  for  spite. 
Madam  Vanderhooven  ran  into  the  house  to  save 
her  mirror — that  very  mirror  you  make  so  much 
of — and  she  was  burned  to  death." 


54  A  House  Party 

"  My  grandmother  Artemisia,"  whispered  Pet, 
aghast. 

"  Yes,  poor  thing.  She  was  so  young,  too — no 
more  than  thirty,  and  your  father  used  to  tell  me, 
often,  how  pretty  she  was.  He  was  ten  years  old 
at  the  time  and  he  remembered  her  well.  He  used 
to  say  you'd  grow  up  her  very  image." 

"  Was  that  why  Grandsir  left  the  farm,  mother?  " 

"  He  had  to  go,  for  it  wasn't  his  any  longer.  His 
father  died  in  Schenectady  only  two  days  after  the 
fire,  and  then  it  turned  out  that  the  title  deeds  that 
gave  your  Grandsir  all  his  land  had  been  burnt  in 
the  fire.  It  seems  that  your  great  grandfather  had 
to  leave  Hendrick  his  share  of  the  land  in  his  will, 
but  he  deeded  it  to  him  earlier,  when  your  grand 
father  brought  his  wife  home.  I  presume  Hendrick 
was  the  favourite  son.  And  your  grandfather  al 
ways  was  kind  of  high-flown  and  heedless,  and  he 
never  had  the  deeds  recorded,  as  they  call  it,  but 
when  his  father  gave  the  papers  to  him,  he  threw 
them  straight  into  his  wife's  lap  and  said,  '  Take 
care  of  them,  Artemisia,  that's  your  fortune.'  And 
she  kept  them,  and  he  never  took  the  trouble  to 
know  where  they  were,  till  they  went  up  in  smoke. 
So  then  Dirck  got  the  place,  because  his  father's  will 
left  him  everything  not  already  disposed  of." 

"  But,  mother,  the  place  wasn't  Grandsir's  father's ; 
it  was  Grandsir's,"  little  Artemisia  cried. 

"  Yes,  but  the  papers  to  prove  it  were  burnt,"  said 
her  mother,  with  the  calm  of  long  submission.  Arte- 


Artemisia's  Mirror  55 

misia,  in  tears,  was  jumping  up  and  down  with 
excitement  over  unbearable  wrong. 

"But  didn't  everybody  know  it  was  Grandsir's? 
Didn't  Dirck  know?  Why  didn't  Grandsir  tell 
him?  "  she  sobbed. 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  child,  Dirck  knew,  and  everybody 
knew.  But  the  law  wouldn't  give  your  grandfather 
the  place  without  the  papers.  He  had  no  proof  at 
all,  so  Dirck  took  it.  It  was  the  best  land  in  your 
grandfather's  estate,  and  Dirck  had  always  been 
mad,  so  your  father  said,  because  Hendrick  got  it. 
He  didn't  offer  to  give  it  back,  once  he  got  it,  Dirck 
didn't,  and  your  Grandsir  and  your  father  were 
turned  out,  like  beggars." 

"  Is  Dirck  alive?"  Pet  asked  with  visions  of  a 
just  God  striking  him  dead,  like  Ananias,  for  his  in 
iquities.  But  her  mother  answered, 

"  Oh  dear,  yes.  He  comes  to  town  every  winter, 
and  lives  in  one  of  the  biggest  houses  in  Lafayette 
Place.  They're  rolling  in  money,  while  your  father 
clerked  it  all  his  days.  But  he'd  sooner  have  starved 
than  go  to  Dirck  Vanderhooven  for  help." 

"  But  don't  we  have  any  money  at  all,  mother?  " 
Pet  asked. 

"  We've  got  what  I  earn/'  her  mother  told  her. 
"  Then  there's  the  house,  and  a  little  besides.  I 
couldn't  take  care  of  the  three  of  us,  all  by  myself. 
But  I  make  every  cent  I  can  sewing.  Your  father 
couldn't  say  I  don't  try  my  best." 

This,   Pet's  first  glimpse  into  the  ways  of  the 


56  A  House  Party 

great  world,  left  her  with  a  profound  contempt  for 
that  machine  of  injustice  known  as  the  law,  a  Mon 
tague  and  Capulet  hatred  of  the  Lafayette  Place 
Vanderhooven's,  and  a  quite  new  respect  for  her 
hated  needle.  That  mother  worked  to  support  her 
and  Grandsir,  had  never  occurred  to  her.  Food 
was  spread  thrice  a  day,  she  had  never  questioned 
any  more  than  Tim,  the  cat,  whence  it  came.  But 
now  to  help  mother  became  her  ardent  ambition. 
The  little  devil  that  knotted  the  thread  and  ran  off 
with  the  thimble  was  exorcised  and  triumphantly 
cast  out,  till  on  one  proud  day  her  mother  said, 
"  I  do  declare,  Pet  you're  a  better  hand  with  your 
needle  than  I  am." 

Pet  was  eighteen  now,  pretty  and  fresh  and  gay, 
working  hard  to  ease  mother,  but  finding  time  for 
play  too,  brooding  little  over  the  lost  glories  of  her 
line,  but  finding  life  as  pleasant  to  Pet  Vanderhoo- 
ven  of  the  little  cottage  as  it  could  be  to  her  cousins, 
the  young  ladies  of  Lafayette  Place.  Grandsir  was 
older,  feebler,  even  more  silent.  When  she  went 
out,  as  she  often  did,  to  help  his  ineffective  hands 
in  the  garden,  there  were  no  more  stories  of  Arte 
misia.  Save  that  he  would  sit  for  hours  with  the 
mirror  in  his  hand,  Pet  could  think  that  he  had 
forgotten  all,  as  she  herself  had  well  nigh  forgotten 
it  in  the  busy  interests  of  her  young  life. 

Then  came  the  day  when  her  mother  fell  ill.  A 
slight  cold,  a  mere  nothing,  they  thought  it,  but  in 
three  days  she  was  dying.  Toward  the  last  her 


Artemisia's  Mirror  57 

eyes  dwelt  in  a  frightened  way  on  Pet,  and  she 
seemed  to  long  to  speak,  but  could  not,  and  passed 
in  silence.  Her  going  left  Pet  stunned  with  misery, 
but  the  ill  fates  had  not  done  with  her.  The  day 
her  mother  was  buried  came  the  lawyer  through 
whom  Mrs.  Vanderhooven's  little  income  had  been 
paid,  to  tell  Pet  that  Mr.  Vanderhooven  continued 
the  free  tenancy  of  the  house,  and  the  same  allow 
ance  he  had  paid  her  mother. 

"  My  grandfather?  "  Pet  ejaculated,  completely  at 
a  loss. 

"  Your  great-uncle,   Mr.   Dirck  Vanderhooven." 

To  her  look  of  speechless  amaze  he  went  on. 

"  Didn't  you  know,  Miss  Vanderhooven,  that  Mr. 
Dirck  Vanderhooven  had  made  your  mother  an  al 
lowance  of  twenty  dollars  a  month  ever  since  your 
father's  death,  fifteen  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Out  of  our  own  estate,  the.  magnificent  fortune 
of  twenty  dollars  a  month ! "  Pet  blazed  forth. 
"  Convey  my  compliments,  if  you  please,  to  Mr. 
Dirck  Vanderhooven,  and  inform  him  that  I  have 
learned  for  the  first  time  of  his  generosity  and  that 
from  this  hour  I  decline  to  be  a  beggar  on  his 
bounty." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Vanderhooven,"  the  lawyer  pro 
tested,  "  think  what  you  are  doing." 

"  I  do  think,"  Pet  retorted,  though  as  a  matter  of 
fact  she  did  not,  she  only  felt.  "  I  know  what  I 
am  doing.  I  know  Grandsir  and  I  would  rather 
starve  than  accept  one  penny  from  Mr.  Dirck  Van- 


58  A  House  Party 

derhooven.  The  money  he  has  given  us  shall  all 
be  paid  back,  he  may  rest  assured.  I  have  no  more 
to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Cheever." 

When  Pet  assumed  the  air  that  had  won  her 
grandmother  the  name  of  "  the  haughty  madam," 
there  was  indeed  no  more  to  be  said.  The  very  next 
day,  she  and  Grandsir  were  installed  in  two  rooms 
in  the  very  eaves  of  a  narrow  house  in  Bleecker 
Street,  and  Mr.  Dirck  Vanderhooven  was  richer  by 
two  hundred  and  forty  dollars  a  year. 

Heroism  is  seldom  comfortable  for  the  hero,  my 
dears,  but  it  is  likely  to  bear  even  harder  on  the 
hero's  family.  Poor  Grandsir  could  by  no  means 
understand  why  he  must  leave  his  garden  plot,  his 
work  of  fifteen  years.  He  wept  like  a  wronged  child, 
and,  with  a  child's  obstinacy,  clung  by  main  force  to 
the  arbour-post  and  declined  to  budge.  In  despair, 
Pet  told  him  they  must  go,  because  the  house  was 
Dirck's.  Instantly  Grandsir's  lamentations  ceased, 
while  there  came  into  his  face  both  fear  and  cunning, 
a  look  even  more  pitiable  than  his  tears. 

"We  must  go,  child;  we  must  go  this  minute," 
he  cried,  clutching  Pet's  arm  and  peering  round  to 
see  if  perchance  Dirck  were  lurking  near.  "  We 
must  go  before  Dirck  finds  us.  He  drove  us  away 
from  Sutton  House;  he'll  drive  us  out  of  the  coun 
try  if  he  can." 

In  the  new  abode,  for  weeks  after,  every  time  a 
board  creaked,  a  step  sounded  in  the  hallway,  Grand- 
sir  cringed  and  whispered  "  Dirck !  "  Pet's  heart 


Artemisia's  Mirror  59 

nearly  broke  for  pity,  but  she  was  powerless  to  lay 
the  ghost  of  the  past  she  had  raised. 

Fortunately  it  was  the  depth  of  winter,  so  that 
Grandsir  did  not  pine  to  be  out  in  his  garden,  but 
was  content  with  the  pots  of  geraniums  and  pinks 
that  Pet  had  brought  from  the  old  house.  Also,  like 
a  child  with  a  loved  toy,  he  played  more  and  more 
with  the  mirror.  Hour  by  hour,  he  would  rub  up 
to  highest  lustre  its  shining  frame;  hour  by  hour  he 
would  sit  motionless  gazing  into  its  grey  depths, 
and  he  told  Pet  that  he  could  see  Artemisia  in  the 
mirror;  that  she  lived  there,  and  when  he  was  ail 
alone  she  would  come  out  of  the  glass  and  speak  to 
him. 

It  was  a  pretty  fancy,  and  Pet  rejoiced  to  see 
that  it  made  Grandsir  happy.  He  talked  again  and 
more  than  ever  of  Artemisia,  till  her  young  grand 
mother  seemed  to  Pet  like  one  of  the  girls  she  knew, 
so  familiar  and  real  had  her  personality  grown. 
Her  presence  filled  the  room;  she  seemed  sometimes 
more  alive  than  the  two  living  beings  who  dwelt 
there. 

Pet  indeed  felt  herself  by  the  ghost  of  her  brilliant 
wilful  triumphant  namesake.  All  day  long  and  all 
the  evening,  she  sewed,  sewed,  sewed,  for  not  only 
must  she  and  Grandsir  be  kept  respectable,  but  she 
must  pay  back  that  twenty  dollars  a  month  owed  for 
fifteen  years.  A  Herculean  task,  truly,  but  to  it 
Pet  set  her  slender  strength  with  all  the  spirit  of  a 
Hercules. 


60  A  House  Party 

Her  life  was  a  lonely  one  enough,  for  she  would 
not  spare  time  for  visiting;  but  it  was  not  unhappy; 
she  was  strung  too  keenly  to  her  purpose  to  mind 
poverty  or  loneliness.  She  had  no  thought  at  all  of 
herself;  her  life  knew  only  two  motives.  Dirck 
Vanderhooven  must  be  paid  off,  and  Grandsir  must 
be  kept  happy. 

For  Grandsir's  sake,  she  put  aside  her  work,  one 
spring  day,  and,  leaving  him  in  the  care  of  a  kindly 
neighbour,  went  out  into  the  country  even  as  far 
as  Fiftieth  Street,  to  dig  him  violets.  She  was  tired 
out  and  the  big  market  basket  weighed  a  ton  by 
the  time  she  had  trudged  back  to  her  own  door.  She 
set  the  basket  down  on  the  lowest  step  and  sighed 
as  she  thought  of  the  steep  stairs.  It  was  even  at 
this  moment  that  the  hand  of  fate  shoved  toward 
her  a  young  man  who  had  recently  come  to  lodge  in 
the  room  next  to  Grandsir's.  He  was  a  nice  look 
ing  young  man  whose  eyes  had  a  habit  of  following 
Pet. 

"  Mayn't  I  carry  up  your  basket  ?  "  he  now  be 
sought,  hat  in  hand. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir,  but  it  is  very  heavy."  Pet 
protested  ingenuously.  The  young  man's  bashful- 
ness  vanished  before  her  confusion. 

"  Then  I  must  certainly  carry  it,"  he  replied.  On 
the  way  up,  Pet  lifted  the  wet  papers  and  showed 
him  her  treasures;  he  asked  where  they  came  from 
and  she  described  her  ramble.  He  remarked  that  he 
had  seen  her  several  times  before;  she  answered 


Artemisia's  Mirror  61 

carelessly  that  she  thought  she  had  seen  him  (she 
had  encountered  him  on  the  stairs  no  longer  ago  than 
that  morning).  By  the  time  they  reached  her  door 
he  had  confided  to  her  that  he  was  a  banker's  clerk 
and  his  name  was  Eric  Parker. 

Pet,  standing  on  the  threshold,  lifted  her  shy  eyes 
to  his.  It  struck  her  that  the  fear  of  Dirck's  foot 
step  might  be  lifted  from  Grandsir  if  he  could  be 
made  to  understand  that  it  was  this  Mr.  Eric  Parker 
whose  tread  rang  so  often  on  the  stairs. 

"  Would  you  like  to  come  in  and  see  my  grand 
father?"  she  asked.  "  Grandsir's  quite  old,  Mr. 
Parker,  and  he  doesn't  always  understand  very  well. 
But  you  won't  appear  to  notice  it  ?  " 

Eric  promised  eagerly,  and  she  presented  him  to 
"  mv  grandfather." 

Grandsir,  \vhen  visitors  came,  had  but  the  one 
formula,  whether  to  a  stranger  or  to  a  friend  of 
twenty  years.  "  I  don't  know  you,  do  I?  "  "  Yes, 
Grandsir,  it's  Millie  Kennedy,"  Pet  would  say.  Then 
Grandsir  would  observe,  with  a  recrudescence  of 
former  gallantry,  "  If  you  came  oftener,  my  dear,  I 
should  know  you  better."  But  a  moment  later  he 
would  reiterate  helplessly,  "  I  don't  know  you,  do 
I?" 

He  looked  now  at  Eric  Parker,  in  his  old  puzzled 
way.  Then  came  a  difference.  He  spoke  with  con 
viction,  "  I've  seen  you  before." 

"  Very  likely  sir.  I  live  in  the  house,"  Eric  an 
swered  politely,  though,  for  all  chances  of  being  seen 


62  A  House  Party 

by  Grandsir,  who  never  left  his  room,  he  might  as 
well  have  lived  in  Kamtschatka. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  know  you.  You  work  on  my 
farm,"  was  Grandsir's  amazing  remark. 

"  No,  Grandsir,"  interposed  Pet,  "  Mr.  Parker 
lives  in  New  York.  He  was  never  on  the  farm." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  I  must  have  confused 
you  with  someone  else,"  the  old  man  apologised. 

"  A  very  natural  mistake,  I'm  sure  sir,"  said  the 
courteous  young  man  and  the  subject  was  dropped. 
But  the  next  time  Eric  came  (which  was  the  follow 
ing  evening)  Grandsir  hailed  him  instantly  as  a 
messenger  from  the  farm  and  asked  how  deep  the 
snow  was  in  the  country,  and  how  the  stock  were 
getting  through  the  winter.  And  Eric,  sitting  down 
by  the  old  man,  fell  into  the  game,  answering  as 
best  he  could  all  Grandsir's  eager  questions  and 
inventing  volumes  of  misinformation  about  the 
farm. 

"  That  was  very  kind,"  Pet  said  to  him  in  a  low 
voice  when  he  bade  her  good  night.  "  It's  a  pious 
fraud,  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Parker.  He  did  enjoy  it  so." 

"  Anything  to  save  you,  Miss  Pet," — Eric  an 
swered,  ardently. 

"  Miss  Vanderhooven,"  she  corrected,  blushing. 
Eric  started. 

"  Vanderhooven  ?  Are  you  kin  to  the  Vanderhoo- 
vens  in  Lafayette  Place?"  he  asked  quickly. 

Pet  was  ill-pleased  at  this  eager  interest  in 
the  rich  Vanderhoovens.  "  Snob ! "  she  cried 


Artemisia's  Mirror  63 

inwardly,  while  replying  with  all  the  ancestral  grand 
manner. 

"  We  are  the  poor  Vanderhoovens.  We  don't 
claim  the  slightest  kinship  with  the  Vanderhoovens 
of  Lafayette  Place." 

The  presumptuous  youth  declined  to  be  crushed  to 
earth  by  the  Artemisian  manner.  On  the  contrary, 
he  was  delighted,  he  said,  that  she  was  not  related  to 
those  Vanderhoovens. 

What  he  had  against  the  Lafayette  Place  Van 
derhoovens  she  knew  not,  but  the  fact  of  his  ani 
mosity  endeared  the  youngster  amazingly  to  Pet. 
The  possession  of  common  enemies  is  one  of  the 
dearest  of  all  ties  that  bind — a  tie  far  stronger  than 
that  of  common  friends.  This,  and  his  kindness  to 
Grandsir,  made  Eric  ever  welcome,  and  Pet  even 
allowed  him  to  coax  her  out  of  doors  on  pleasant 
evenings.  Before  many  weeks  he  and  Pet,  sitting  on 
a  secluded  bench  in  Battery  Park,  concluded  that 
they  were  made  for  each  other.  They  had  been  re 
peating  this  with  very  slight  variations  for  an  hour 
or  so  when  Eric  asked  Pet  incidentally  what  her 
name  was. 

"  Vanderhooven,  the  poor  Vanderhooven,"  she 
answered,  for  he  made  fun  of  her  fierce  pride. 

"  Never  mind,  it  shall  be  Parker  soon.  But  I 
mean  your  first  name  dearest.  I  suppose  your  spon 
sors  in  baptism  didn't  christen  you  Pet,  did  they? 
Not  that  they  could  have  found  any  name  half  so 
fit." 


64  A  House  Party 

"  Of  course  I  have  a  name,"  Pet  protested  with 
dignity.  "  But  it  is  too  fine  for  every  day,  so  Mother 
called  me  Pet.  My  real  name  is  Artemisia." 

He  started  away  from  her,  dropping  her  hand. 

"  Artemisia  Vanderhooven !  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  named  for  my  grandmother,  the 
Lady  Artemisia  Sutton."  Pet's  voice  lingered  lov 
ingly  on  the  name. 

He  sprang  up,  seeming  to  tower  over  her. 

"  Then  your  grandfather  is  Hendrick  Vanderhoo 
ven.  I  might  have  guessed — But  you  told  me  you 
weren't  related  to  those  Vanderhoovens." 

She  rose  too.  Something,  she  knew  not  what,  was 
hideously  amiss. 

"  We  have  quarreled  with  them,  and  we  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them.  But  my  grandfather  is 
Hendrick  Vanderhooven." 

"  And  my  father  was  Edward  Day." 

"  The  man  who  killed  my  grandmother  ?  " 

The  turf  under  her  feet  rose  and  fell  like  the  waves 
in  the  bay,  and  the  trees  swayed  like  masts.  Pet 
caught  hold  of  the  bench  to  steady  herself. 

"  Eric,  you're  raving.     Your  name's  Parker — " 

"  My  father  changed  his  name  and  left  his  home. 
But  the  stigma  followed  him  everywhere  till  he  died 
of  the  shame  of  it." 

"Your  father,"  Pet  whispered,  as  if  it  were 
too  hideous  to  say  aloud.  "  And  you  came  to 
me!" 

"  I  didn't  know " 


Artemisia's  Mirror  65 

"  The  name  of  Vanderhooven  should  have  been 
enough !  " 

"  But  I  loved  you  before  I  knew  your  name,  Pet." 

Her  anger  melted  like  mist. 

"O  Eric!  O  my  dear!" 

He  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms  but  she  cried 
passionately,  "  no,  no!  Don't  touch  me!"  And 
then,  as  he  stood  chilled  by  her  revulsion,  her  mood 
turned  again,  and  she  cried 

"  Eric,  perhaps  your  father  was  innocent." 

"Innocent?"  his  son  repeated  bitterly.  "He 
was  as  innocent  as  I  am — but  for  all  that  your 
grandfather  put  the  rope  round  his  neck  to  hang  him 
to  the  nearest  tree.  And  that's  the  man — that  Hend- 
rick  Vanderhooven,  to  whom  I've  brought  roses." 

"  Are  you  sorry  you  were  kind  to  that  old  man?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Eric,  probably  untruthfully. 
"  But  I  never  would  have  darkened  his  door,  had 
I  known— Good-by,  Pet." 

Her  love  for  him  lent  her  patience  that  was  not 
hers  by  nature. 

"  Wait,  Eric,"  she  said,  as  gently  as  the  meekest 
of  maidens.  "  If  your  father  was  innocent,  we'll 
prove  it." 

"  What,  after  forty  years?  " 

"  The  truth  must  come  out  in  the  end,  else  one 
couldn't  believe  in  God,"  answered  Pet  piteously. 

"  You  know,  Eric,  I've  been  brought  up  to  exe 
crate  your  father's  name.  Then,  if  I,  Artemisia 
Vanderhooven's  granddaughter,  can  believe  him  in- 


66  A  House  Party 

nocent  on  your  bare  word,  won't  you  help  me  prove 
it  to  others?" 

His  young  spirit  caught  hope. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  darling.    We  will  prove  it." 

They  sat  down  again  then,  side  by  side  like  friends, 
while  Eric  told  the  story.  He  knew  it  but  too  well. 
He  had  heard  it  from  his  father  many  bitter  times. 

"  Father  was  the  son  of  a  farmer  living  eight  or 
ten  miles  from  Sutton  Place,  and  he  hired  out  to 
your  grandfather  for  the  harvest.  He  was  only 
twenty  years  old  and  he  had  never  been  away  from 
home  before,  and  he'd  never  been  in  a  house  where 
the  family  didn't  eat  with  the  hands.  The  Vander- 
hoovens  didn't,  though  your  grandfather  worked 
beside  the  men  in  the  fields;  but  he  and  Madame 
Vanderhooven  and  their  little  boy — that  must  have 
been  your  father,  I  suppose, — had  their  meals  in  a 
parlour  by  themselves.  Father  didn't  like  that,  and 
he  began  to  comment  on  it  to  the  men,  and  called 
it  stuck-up  and  English,  and  he  got  into  a  regular 
spreadeagle  speech  against  the  English,  when  the 
madam  came  out  and  heard  him.  She  took  the  wind 
out  of  his  sails  in  a  way  that  made  him  feel  a  fool 
and  a  booby  before  all  the  men,  and  then  she  told 
him  he  must  apologise  or  go.  He  went,  but  he 
threatened  her  he'd  get  even  with  her. 

"  Father  said  he  didn't  mean  anything  in  the 
world  by  that  speech;  he  was  so  angry  he  didn't 
know  what  he  was  saying.  Off  he  marched  with  his 
bundle  over  his  shoulder,  and  he'd  put  five  or  six 


Artemisia's  Mirror  67 

miles  between  him  and  Sutton  House,  when  he  re 
membered  that  he'd  left  his  purse  with  every  penny 
he  had  in  the  world,  under  the  pillow.  He  turned 
round  and  went  back  to  the  house.  It  was  noon  by 
that  time,  and  there  wasn't  a  soul  to  be  seen  about 
the  place.  The  men  were  working  too  far  from 
home  to  return  for  dinner,  and  the  women  had  all 
gone  to  carry  it  to  them.  He  sneaked  up  to  his  room 
and  found  his  purse,  and  he  thought,  coming  down, 
he  said,  how  easy  it  would  be  to  take  some  of  their 
silver,  or  spoil  their  pictures.  But  he  swore  he  never 
touched  one  thing,  but  walked  straight  out  of  that 
house  and  on  his  way  again. 

"  When  he  was  about  a  mile  from  the  house,  he 
saw  Madam  Vanderhooven  coming  along  with  her 
son.  Father  said  if  she'd  been  alone  he'd  have  faced 
her  and  asked  her  pardon,  but  he  couldn't  bear  to 
humble  himself  before  the  boy,  so  he  dropped  down 
behind  some  bushes.  She  and  the  lad  were  busy 
talking,  and  they  never  saw  him,  and  passed  by. 
Afterward,  he  wished  to  God  he  had  stopped  her. 

"  He  walked  on  another  mile,  to  where  the  road 
went  up  over  a  hill,  and  on  the  crest  he  turned 
and  looked  back  and  saw  flames  bursting  out  of  the 
windows  of  Sutton  House.  He  knew  one  man  would 
be  powerless  to  help,  so  he  raced  along  over  the  fields 
to  the  harvesters,  shouting  that  Sutton  House  was 
on  fire,  and  that  Madam  was  there. 

"  While  he  was  saying  the  words,  up  ran  the  boy 
from  the  other  direction,  to  tell  the  same  tale.  He 


68  A  House  Party 

and  his  mother  had  seen  the  fire;  she  had  run  on  to 
the  house.  When  the  men,  father  and  everybody, 
came  up,  the  whole  place  was  in  flames  and  no  sign 
of  Madam  Vanderhooven.  Her  husband  called  for 
volunteers  to  find  her — and  the  first  to  spring  into 
the  fire  at  his  side  was  Edward  Day.  They  were 
together  when  they  found  her  lying  on  the  floor  in 
the  little  panelled  parlour,  with  an  old  looking-glass 
clasped  in  her  arms." 

"Oh,  poor  lady,"  Pet  breathed.  "It  was  my 
mirror." 

"  The  fire  had  spared  her,"  he  went  on,  "  she 
seemed  to  have  been  suffocated  by  the  smoke.  They 
worked  over  her  till  finally  she  opened  her  eyes  and 
said  the  one  word  Edward,  and  died. 

"  Instantly  the  cry  rose  that  Edward  Day  had 
murdered  her — he  had  fired  the  house.  In  the 
panelled  room  scattered  straw,  not  quite  destroyed 
pointed  to  arson.  Edward  Day  had  quarrelled  with 
the  mistress  and  then  had  hung  about  the  neighbour 
hood  all  day.  Indeed  the  boy — your  father — bore 
witness  to  seeing  him  hiding  by  the  bushes  in  the 
road,  though  his  mother  had  laughed  at  him  for 
thinking  it.  Some  one  brought  a  rope,  and  Hendrick 
Vanderhooven  put  it  round  my  father's  neck. 

"  Nobody  listened  to  a  word  father  said.  They 
were  like  mad  wolves  in  their  fury.  But  when  that 
rope  touched  him,  father  with  one  plunge  freed  him 
self  from  the  men  who  held  him.  The  crowd  was 
in  a  circle  around  him.  He  could  not  possibly  escape, 


Artemisia's  Mirror  69 

and  they  waited  to  see  what  he  would  do.  He  went 
over  to  where  Madam  Vanderhooven's  body  lay  on 
the  ground,  and  he  lifted  the  cloth  somebody  had 
thrown  over  it.  She  wasn't  disfigured,  he  said,  and 
she  looked  just  as  quiet  and  pretty  as  if  she  were 
sleeping,  except  that  her  eyes  were  wide  open,  star 
ing  straight  up  at  him. 

There  was  a  sort  of  groan  from  the  crowd  when 
he  went  toward  her,  and  they  surged  forward  as  if 
to  stop  him.  But  he  knelt  down  by  her,  and  put  one 
hand  on  her  forehead  and  one  on  her  breast  and  said 

"  I  swear  before  God  I  never  harmed  her  or  her 
house.  Boys,  could  I  touch  her  if  I'd  brought  her  to 
her  death?" 

"Oh,  Eric,"  Pet  cried.  "They  must  have  let 
him  go  then." 

"  They  gave  up  the  notion  of  lynching  him.  He 
was  tried  for  arson,  convicted,  and  served  his  term. 
I  am  a  convict's  son,  Miss  Vanderhooven." 

"  He  was  innocent,  Eric,"  Pet  cried  quickly.  "  He 
must  have  been  innocent."  But  after  her  brave  as 
surance  she  shivered. 

He  broke  a  long  silence  "  Well,  Pet?  "  She  rose, 
with  a  strangled  sob. 

"  I  don't  know,  Eric — I  don't  know.  Take  me 
home." 

It  was  late,  and  her  first  task  was  to  help  Grand- 
sir  to  his  bed.  She  kissed  him  with  a  mother's  ten 
derness  for  his  helplessness;  and  put  out  the  light. 
Then  as  if  she  had  no  strength  left,  she  sank  down 


jo  A  House  Party 

in  Grandsir's  chair,  in  misery  none  the  less  wretched 
that  it  made  no  sound.  In  Eric's  presence,  swayed 
by  her  love  for  him,  by  his  own  firm  belief,  she  had 
not  hesitated  to  champion  his  father's  innocence. 
Now,  alone  in  the  dark,  she  wavered.  Grandsir  had 
thought  him  guilty,  her  father  had  thought  him 
guilty,  Artemisia  herself  had  said  in  her  dying  breath 
Edward.  Was  it  possible  all  of  these,  the  court 
itself,  had  been  wrong? 

Whatever  his  father  had  been,  she  could  never 
cease  to  love  Eric.  She  could  not  blame  him  for  his 
father's  sin.  But  well  she  knew  Grandsir  would 
have  no  such  charity.  "  I  would  never  have  dark 
ened  his  doors,  had  I  known,"  Eric  had  said,  nor 
would  Hendrick  Vanderhooven,  had  he  known,  ever 
have  received  Eric  Day.  That  Grandsir  did  not 
know,  need  never  know,  changed  the  situation  no 
whit.  She  should  never  tell  him — of  what  use  to 
open  old  wounds, — but  loyalty  constrained  her  to 
act  as  if  he  knew.  Hendrick  Vanderhooven's  child 
could  be  no  wife,  no  friend  even,  of  Eric  Day. 

It  made  no  difference  in  Pet's  mind  that  the  crime, 
if  crime  it  was,  had  happened  forty  years  before; 
that  neither  Eric  nor  she  was  born  till  the  event  was 
all  but  forgotten ;  that  Eric  and  she  were  guiltless  of 
wrong,  young,  with  their  lives  all  before  them.  Pet 
had  lived  all  her  days  in  the  past ;  Sutton  House  was 
as  much  a  part  of  her  life  as  if  she  had  dwelt  there 
in  the  flesh ;  her  grandmother  Artemisia's  cause  was 
her  own.  She  could  not  separate  her  fortunes  from 


Artemisia's  Mirror  71 

her  family's;  with  a  feudal  loyalty  she  walked  as 
her  forbears  had  walked.  And  Eric,  too,  nourished 
on  the  tale  of  his  father's  wrongs;  for  him  also  was 
the  dead  past  a  living  thing.  He,  no  more  than  the 
girl,  could  cut  loose  from  the  root  whence  he  had 
sprung.  They  had  walked  home  in  silence.  Despite 
their  tenderness  for  each  other,  which  no  sin  of 
others  could  kill,  the  past  had  risen  like  a  wall  be 
tween  them.  They  both  felt  it  to  be  so,  and  had 
parted  without  even  touching  hands. 

And  yet,  and  yet,  Pet's  heart  yearned  over  him. 
She  dropped  on  her  knees  to  pray  for  help,  for  light. 

Where  was  light  to  come  from  after  these  forty 
years  ? 

Before  her,  on  the  table  where  Grandsir  had  put 
it  down,  lay  Artemisia's  mirror.  The  girl  bent  over 
it.  In  the  dim  starlight  a  ghost  of  her  face  looked 
back  at  her,  as  Grandsir  said  his  Artemisia  looked 
at  him.  "  Oh,  grandmother,  have  pity  on  me  and 
tell  me,"  Pet's  heart  implored.  But  the  face  had 
vanished  from  the  mirror.  Nothing  was  there 
save  the  reflection  of  an  empty  room.  She  lifted  her 
hand  to  push  away  the  glass,  when  of  a  sudden,  with 
a  cry,  she  held  still.  For  while  the  room  about  her 
was  midnight  dark,  the  room  in  the  mirror  showed 
a  band  of  sunshine  across  the  floor — while  the  real 
room  was  white-washed  and  furnished  with  deal, 
the  room  in  the  mirror  was  panelled  and  beamed 
in  oak,  and  the  furniture  was  all  of  teakwood.  The 
polished  floor  was  covered  with  bear  and  panther 


72  A  House  Party 

skins.  On  the  mantel-shelf  stood  jars  of  roses.  One 
side  of  the  room  showed  a  book-case;  the  other  a 
tall  secretary  with  closed  doors.  The  room  was  de 
serted,  yet  even  as  she  gazed  the  door  opened  for 
the  hasty  entrance  of  a  gentleman  in  riding  dress. 
Some  elusive  yet  insistent  likeness  between  the  vig- 
ourous  young  face  of  the  cavalier  and  that  tremu 
lous  dim-eyed  mask  on  the  pillow  behind  her  told  the 
watcher  that  thus  her  grandfather  had  looked  forty 
years  before. 

He  moved  straight  to  the  secretary,  flung  open 
its  unlocked  doors,  took  out  one  by  one  every  paper 
in  its  drawers  and  pigeon  holes,  examined  it,  and 
returned  it  to  its  proper  place.  Twice  he  went 
through  the  desk,  patiently,  carefully,  minutely. 
With  his  riding  crop  he  sounded  for  secret  drawers, 
in  vain.  Then  changing  his  field  of  search,  he 
opened  the  book-case,  removed  book  by  book,  ruffled 
the  leaves  over,  shook  them  vainly,  and  put  them 
back. 

At  first,  his  movements  had  been  controlled,  with 
out  haste  and  without  nervousness.  But  as  he  con 
tinued  his  fruitless  quest  a  feverish  hurry  overtook 
him.  His  hands  shook.  He  started  once  or  twice, 
as  if  at  a  noise  without.  The  colour  came  and  went 
in  his  cheeks.  In  a  very  frenzy  of  search,  he  tapped 
the  walls  for  secret  cubbies,  fell  on  his  knees  to  pry 
up  the  bricks  of  the  hearth. 

All  at  once  he  sprang  up,  opened  the  door  a  crack, 
and  stood  for  several  minutes  listening.  Then  the 


Artemisia's  Mirror  73 

danger,  if  such  it  were,  passed.  He  flung  the  door 
wide  and  strode  out  and  up  the  passage.  For  a  time 
the  room  remained  quiet.  At  length,  the  same  visi 
tor  came  back,  empty-handed,  scowling-browed. 
For  what  had  Grandsir  been  looking,  the  loss  of 
which  had  brought  that  look  to  his  face? 

For  a  moment  he  stood  motionless,  a  sullen 
baffled  figure  whose  despair  suddenly  before  her 
eyes  was  changed  to  malevolent  triumph.  Abruptly 
he  left  the  room  and  came  back  with  an  armful  of 
straw,  returning  for  more  and  again  more.  What 
was  Grandsir  doing?  He  was  mad.  No,  the  mir 
ror  was  mad,  lying.  Grandsir  was  working  in  the 
fields  that  day;  he  did  not  fire  the  house. 

As  if  she  had  heard  it  spoken  aloud,  the  answer 
flashed  to  Pet.  Dirck! 

He  had  ridden  from  Schenectady  with  the  news 
of  his  father's  extremity.  He  found  the  house  de 
serted,  and  he  remembered  the  title  deeds.  Destroy 
them,  and  he  was  master  of  Sutton  House.  Even 
as  the  thought  jumped  into  her  brain  the  man  knelt 
over  the  straw  and  struck  a  match.  A  second  later, 
he  leapt  from  the  casement,  leaving  it  open  for  the 
wind  to  fan  the  fire.  Flames  shot  up  licking  the 
walls,  then  smoke  rolled  thick,  hiding  all.  Pet  sat 
sick  and  helpless.  She  must  cry  out,  she  must  give 
warning — but  this  house  had  been  burned  forty 
years ! 

The  smoke  wreaths  rolled  aside  as  the  door  opened, 
admitting  a  blast  of  clearer  air.  Into  the  midst  of 


74  A  House  Party 

the  furnace  rushed  a  little  figure  in  a  white  frock, 
with  dark  curls  flying,  horrified  dark  eyes  looking 
straight  toward  Pet.  "  Oh,  my  dear !  "  Pet  cried  in 
agony,  starting  forward  with  eager  arms  out 
stretched  to  save  her — and  found  herself  standing 
alone  in  the  grey  dawn,  her  cold  hands  clutching  the 
grey  glass  of  the  mirror. 

That  it  was  a  fevered  dream  she  had  no  choice 
but  to  believe.  Yet,  unlike  dreams,  the  memory  of 
it  did  not  fade  as  the  hours  went  by,  the  impression 
did  not  blur.  All  day  long  the  vision  hung  on  Pet 
like  an  incubus,  till  at  dusk  it  took  her  by  the  throat 
and  forced  her  to  Dirck  Vanderhooven's  door. 

Sometimes  Chance,  ashamed  of  her  slip-shod 
ways,  rouses  herself  to  outdo  the  very  prince  of 
diplomats.  Mr.  Dirck  Vanderhooven  was  at  home. 
The  servant,  a  green  country  maid,  more  willing 
than  discreet,  conducted  the  visitor  straight  to  his 
library  door,  murmured,  "  A  lady  to  see  you,  sir," 
and  left  them  alone  together. 

Mr.  Dirck  Vanderhooven  was  seated  near  the 
window,  reading  by  the  fading  daylight.  Pet  saw 
how  like  he  was  to  Grandsir,  and  how  unlike.  He 
was  straight  and  vigourous — he  looked  twenty  years 
younger  than  the  bowed  meek  figure  at  home.  Yet 
not  so ;  on  second  glance  there  was  no  such  look  of 
youth  about  Dirck  Vanderhooven  as  still  shone  from 
Hendrick's  mild  eyes.  Dirck's  face  was  lined,  con 
tracted  with  mean  cares,  old. 

Evidently,  he  had  not  heard  her. 


Artemisia's  Mirror  75 

But  presently  some  finer  sense  than  hearing  told 
him  of  a  presence  in  the  room,  and  he  lifted  his 
eyes  and  saw  her.  He  recoiled  with  the  blanched 
face  of  one  who  sees  death  itself  staring  him  in  the 
face.  His  speechless  lips  shaped  themselves  to  a 
name. 

"Artemisia!" 

"  You  fired  Sutton  House,"  said  Artemisia's  ghost 
to  him. 

"  The  house  was  empty.  I  never  meant  to  kill 
you,  Artemisia,"  he  struggled  to  answer,  and  fell  at 
Artemisia's  feet. 

She  left  his  own  people  weeping  over  him  and  fled 
home  like  a  criminal  in  the  night.  She  had  taken 
it  upon  herself  to  mete  out  punishment  to  the  wicked ; 
she  had  played  at  being  God.  And  her  punishment 
had  come  in  the  awful  completeness  of  her  suc 
cess. 

A  little  crowd  of  women  hung  about  her  own 
door,  which  broke  into  murmurs  as  she  approached. 
"  Ah,  the  poor  young  lady !  The  poor  thing."  Eric, 
quiet  and  pale,  came  out  of  Grandsir's  room,  and 
put  his  arm  about  her. 

"  He's  gone,  dear  heart.  I  heard  him  through 
the  wall  of  my  room  suddenly  cry  out,  and  fall. 
When  I  ran  to  him,  he  was  dead." 

Eric  had  laid  Grandsir  on  the  bed,  covering  him 
tenderly,  all  injuries  forgotten.  On  the  floor  lay 
the  mirror,  shattered. 

"  He  must  have  been  holding  it  in  his  hand  when 


j6  A  House  Party 

he  died,"  Eric  said  softly.  "  What  I  heard  him  cry 
was  '  Artemisia.' ' 

Pet  knelt  and  kissed  the  wan  cheek.  Eric  lifted 
the  mirror  to  put  it  in  the  dead  hand  when  his  eye 
fell  on  a  folded  paper,  freed  from  its  wall  of  glass 
when  the  mirror  broke.  "  I  Pieter  Vanderhooven, 

make  over  and  convey ."  Safe,  these  fifty  years, 

in  Artemisia's  mirror  lay  Artemisia's  fortune ! 

He  was  at  Pet's  side,  but  before  he  could  tell  her, 
she  lifted  her  eyes — eyes  wet  for  present  sorrows, 
but  shining  with  hope  of  brightness  to  come. 

"  Eric,  he  died  with  her  name  on  his  lips,  and 
don't  you  see,  she  died  speaking  his  ?  '  Edward  ' — 
it's  on  the  mirror  in  your  hand,  there.  It  was  what 
she  called  her  husband  for  his  dearest  name.  She 
wasn't  accusing  anybody.  She  wasn't  thinking  of 
revenge.  She  was  just  thinking  of  love." 


"  Now,  Mr.  Goddard,"  challenged  the  Dame,  "  I 
suppose  you  will  say  that  isn't  true/' 

"  No,  Miss  Blake,  my  sole  comment  will  be  that 
your  truth  is  stranger  than  my  fiction." 

"  But  you  acknowledge  it  is  truth  ?  " 

"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  question  it,"  answered  Mr. 
Goddard,  meekly.  "  But  I'd  give  a  good  deal  if  I 
could  only  lie  half  as  well  as  your  chief  character." 

"  Not  Artemisia?  "  demanded  one  of  the  girls. 

"  No,  no,"  responded  Harold.  "  Like  the  Mirror. 
I'd  always  thought  that  a  looking-glass  was  a  sort 


Artemisia's  Mirror  77 

of  inanimate  G.  W.,  but  now  I  see  that  it  is  human 
like  the  rest  of  us." 

"  At  least  they  only  lie  on  impulse ;  never  on 
reflection,"  suggested  some  one. 

"  Excuse  me,"  contradicted  a  man  well  beyond 
the  vanity  of  years,  "  I  am  certain  my  mirror  lies 
daily  as  to  the  number  of  my  wrinkles,  for  unless  I 
put  on  my  glasses,  not  one  can  I  see." 

"  Be  thankful  it  shows  you  anything,"  comforted 
one  of  the  young  men,  "  for  I'm  going  to  tell  you  of 
something  which  happened  to  a  friend  of  mine. 
The  truth  is,  Mrs.  Goddard,"  he  added,  "  this  his 
torical  story  business  is  being  worked  so  to  death, 
that  it's  time  we  had  another  sort,  and  so  I'll  tell  you 
one  of  the  old  fashion  kind  that  took  imagination, 
as  well  as  industry — so  pay  heed  and  take  warning, 
all  ye  here  assembled,  to  the  tale  of :  DAWSON'S 
DILEMMA." 


DAWSON'S   DILEMMA 


IT  was  a  fine  bracing  autumn  morning.  A  day 
when  the  right  sort  of  young  man's  fancy 

ought  to  turn  to  thoughts  of  golf,  but  despite 
the  fact  that  Dawson  was  in  most  respects  the 
right  sort  of  a  young  man,  that  worthy  person's 
thoughts  turned  to  nothing  of  the  kind.  Unfor 
tunately  Dawson  had  dined  with  a  number  of  choice 
spirits  the  night  before  and  the  combination  of 
late  hours,  tobacco  smoke,  and  various  other 
things,  had  brought  about  the  inevitable  post 
prandial  consciousness  that  he  had  a  head  upon  his 
shoulders. 

For  an  hour  he  had  lain  awake  in  his  bed  trying 
to  persuade  himself  to  get  up  and  go  about  the  busi 
ness  of  the  day,  but  the  ache  in  his  eyes  and  the 
rapid  pulsation  of  his  brain,  and  the  glassy  feeling 
in  the  back  of  his  neck  were  too  much  for  his  powers 
of  persuasion.  Finally  however,  by  a  strong  effort 
of  the  will  he  rose  up,  took  his  tubbing  like  a  man 
and  prepared  to  shave.  The  tubbing  refreshed  him 
somewhat,  so  that  he  felt  quite  equal  to  that  unhappy 
task  which  makes  even  the  new  woman  rejoice  that 
she  is  not  like  unto  man  in  all  respects.  He  wished 
that  it  were  not  necessary  to  shave,  but  a  very  cur 
sory  examination  of  his  chin  made  by  passing  his 
hand  gently  over  that  useful  member  proved  the 
expediency  of  so  doing,  and  with  a  sigh  he  set  about 

78 


Dawson's  Dilemma  79 

it,  and  it  was  then  that  the  first  incident  in 
the  narrative  I  am  about  to  set  before  you  oc 
curred. 

As  Dawson  stood  before  the  glass  and  applied  the 
lather  to  his  face  he  caught  a  roguish  twinkle  in 
the  reflected  glance  of  his  own  eyes.  He  paused  for 
an  instant  and  his  brow  contracted  somewhat,  as 
much  as  to  say  that  he  did  not  wholly  approve  of 
that  other  self  as  reflected  in  the  mirror.  How 
could  he  ?  No  sane  creature  would  have  invited  such 
a  headache  as  he  had  and  philosophise  as  he  might 
he  could  not  reason  away  the  fact  that  the  headache 
was  a  logical  conclusion  based  upon  premisses  of  a 
thoroughly  substantial  nature.  It  was  not  in  the 
nature  of  things,  however,  that  Dawson  should  dis 
approve  of  himself  very  strongly  or  for  any  pro 
longed  space  of  time.  Hence  it  was  not  long  before 
the  stern  look  in  his  own  eyes  was  driven  away 
by  a  repetition  of  the  roguish  look  in  the  mirrored 
optics.  His  brow  relaxed  and  around  the  corners 
of  his  lips  there  hovered  that  suggestion  of  a  smile 
which  he  had  not  found  wholly  useless  in  his  efforts 
to  conquer  the  world  in  the  past  and  inadvertently 
he  ejaculated,  addressing  his  mirrored  self : 

"  You're  a  great  chap,  Billie,  and  what  you'll  do 
next  I  don't  know  any  more  than  I  know  what  you 
do  when  you  go  out  of  that  reflection  of  my  door 
back  of  you." 

He  turned  away  for  a  moment  to  sharpen  his 
razor. 


80  A  House  Party 

The  clock  on  the  mantel  was  striking  the  fifth 
stroke  of  the  hour  of  nine  and  simultaneously  with 
this,  Dawson  was  astonished  to  hear  from  the  depths 
of  the  mirror  the  words  rather  contemptuously 
spoken : 

"If  one's  reflection  were  unfortunate  enough  to 
be  the  mere  slave  of  the  more  material  substance, 
how  few  self-respecting  reflections  there  would  be  in 
this  world,  to  be  sure !  " 

"  What  the  devil !  "  cried  Dawson,  putting  down 
the  razor  and  completely  forgetting  the  lather  upon 
his  face  in  his  astonishment  for  the  moment.  As 
he  gazed  back  again  into  the  mirror,  he  was  still 
further  astonished  to  discover  that  his  reflected  self 
therein  instead  of  showing  him  as  he  stood,  was 
sitting  down  on  the  reflection  of  the  small  rocking- 
chair  back  of  him,  gazing  with  a  cynical  smile  upon 
him  who  had  fondly  presumed  that  he  was  the  origi 
nal  of  the  combination.  "  What's  that  you  said  ?  " 
he  demanded,  his  gaze  growing  intense. 

"  I  said,"  replied  the  reflected  Dawson  with  a 
calmness  that  amounted  almost  to  contempt,  "  that 
if  men's  mirrored  selves  were  mere  slaves  to  the 
substance  there  would  be  very  few  self-respecting 
reflections  in  the  world.  If  you  can't  grasp  the  idea 
I'll  say  it  for  the  third  time,  only  it's  a  dreadful 
bore  to  have  to  converse  one's  conversation  -over 
and  over  again  in  order  that  it  may  reach  the  com 
prehension  of  the  dull-witted." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  demanded  Dawson,  his 


Dawson's  Dilemma  81 

eyes  growing  big,  "  that  you  lead  a  life  independent 
from  that  which  I  lead?  " 

"  Independent — I  should  hope  so,"  replied  the 
Reflection.  "  I  don't  mind  doing  what  you  do  in 
this  room.  You  perform  the  details  of  your  toilet 
rather  well,  and  I  am  satisfied  with  the  way  you  do 
things  here,  but  if  you  think  that  when  I  go  outside 
of  that  door  I  behave  so  like  an  ass  as  you've  been 
known  to  do  you  are  mightily  mistaken." 

Dawson  was  properly  insulted,  and  his  impulse 
was  to  hurl  his  shaving  stick  at  his  reflection  but 
the  latter  grinned  maddeningly  at  him  from  the 
depths  of  the  mirror  and  grimly  observed : 

"  Good  work  old  boy.  Smash  the  glass  if  you 
want  to.  It  may  please  you  and  it  won't  hurt  me, 
but  really  I  wouldn't  be  so  foolish  if  I  were  you;  it's 
not  worth  while.  What's  the  use  of  destroying  a 
glass  that  has  cost  you  seventy-five  dollars  to  sat 
isfy  a  grudge  against  a  creature  you  cannot  by  any 
possibility  reach  ?  " 

Dawson  paused.  Whether  he  forgot  the  absurd 
ity  of  the  situation  for  the  moment  or  realised  the 
good  sense  of  his  counterpart  I  do  not  know.  At 
any  rate  he  paused  in  his  wrath,  and  meekly  asked 
an  explanation. 

"Oh,  I  only  mean,"  said  the  Reflection,  "that 
when  after  performing  all  the  details  of  our  toilet 
in  the  morning,  and  you  go  out  of  your  door,  and 
I  emerge  into  my  wrorld  through  mine,  I  am  no 
longer  required  to  merely  imitate  your  every  action 


8  2  A  House  Party 

and  so  I  say  therefore,  I  lead  an  independent  life, 
the  life  you  ought  to  lead,  and  never  make  an  ass  of 
myself  except  it  be  for  a  good  cause." 

"  I've  got  you  there,"  retorted  Dawson  trium 
phantly.  "  You  are  my  slave,  for  wherever  I  go 
you  go  also  whether  you  will  or  not.  That  is  shown 
by  the  fact  that  if  I  choose  to  go  to  the  club  and 
stand  before  the  mirror  there  you  can't  for  the  life 
of  you  keep  from  turning  up.  If  you  can,  why  do 
you  always  dog  my  footsteps?  Independent  life? 
Independent  Tommy- Rot !  " 

"  I  thought  you'd  say  that,"  said  his  Reflection, 
exasperatingly  calm.  "  Just  because  I  chaperone 
you  in  a  public  place  and  try  to  see  that  you  behave 
yourself  properly  and  don't  unnecessarily  make  a 
donkey  of  yourself,  you  think  it's  because  I  have  to. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  it's  pure  philanthropy  on  my 
part,  and  time  and  time  again  I  have  saved  you 
from  going  home  from  the  club  in  a  state  of  intoxi 
cation,  by  merely  calling  your  attention  to  your  face, 
and  you've  been  able  to  see  at  a  glance  into  what 
you've  fondly  supposed  were  your  mirrored  eyes, 
that  you'd  had  as  much  as  you  could  stand.  Isn't 
that  so?" 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  Dawson  admitted,  "  but  what  does 
that  prove  ?  " 

"  It  proves,"  said  the  Reflection,  "  simply  that  in 
stead  of  being  your  slave,  I'm  your  mentor,  and 
your  invariable  willingness  to  obey  even  so  slight  a 
thing  as  a  suggestion  on  my  part,  would  seem  to 


Dawson's  Dilemma  83 

show  that  if  there  is  a  slave  anywhere  it  is  not  on 
my  side  of  the  glass." 

A  prolonged  silence  ensued,  during1  which  Daw- 
son  rubbed  his  eyes  and  forehead  after  the  manner 
of  one  who  is  endeavouring  to  massage  his  brain  with 
the  possible  hope  of  extracting  from  its  folds  some 
idea  as  to  how  the  strange  things  which  had  hap 
pened  had  come  about.  The  more  he  thought  of 
the  situation  the  less  it  pleased  him.  He  found  it 
difficult  to  believe  in  the  reality  of  all  that  had  hap 
pened,  yet  the  alternative  was  not  pleasant.  It  had 
seemed  real  enough,  yet  if  it  were  not,  what  could 
he  think  of  the  condition  of  his  mind?  What  in 
very  truth  could  he  claim  for  his  sanity?  On  the 
other  hand  granting  the  reality  of  the  situation,  was 
it  likely  to  prove  a  pleasing  possibility  that  wherever 
he  might  go  this  quicksilver  mentor  must  follow, 
like  a  detective,  listening  to  his  every  word,  watch 
ing  his  acts  with  lynx-eyed  persistence?  This 
thought  aroused  some  irritation  in  Dawson's  breast 
which  was  not  at  all  allayed  by  a  voluntary  remark 
which  issued  from  the  Reflection  that  he'd  like  to 
know  what  basis  Dawson  had  for  believing  that  it 
was  he  after  all  who  was  the  substance>  and  not  the 
reflection. 

"  How  do  I  know?  "  cried  Dawson  jumping  to  his 
feet  and  approaching  the  glass  menacingly. 

"  That's  what  I  said,"  returned  the  other.  "  Sup 
pose  for  an  instance  that  I  should  claim  to  be  the 
real  Dawson,  and  should  assert  that  you  were  noth- 


84  A  House  Party 

ing  but  my  reflection,  how  could  you  prove  that  I 
was  wrong?  " 

"  Bosh !  "  cried  Dawson  angrily,  and  then  he  in 
flated  his  truly  magnificent  chest  and  with  both  fists 
clenched  thumped  it  vigorously.  "  Anyone  with 
half  an  eye  can  see  that  that's  solid,  and  no  vain 
mockery  of  a  reflection,"  he  said. 

"  I  will  quote  you,"  said  the  Reflection  with  a 
grin  of  exceeding  derision.  "  I  will  repeat  your 
word  '  bosh/  and  add,  pooh!  You  are  justly  proud 
of  your  chest,  but  my  dear  fellow,  how  about 
mine?" 

The  mocking  image  thereupon  thrust  its  chest  for 
ward  in  exact  imitation  of  Dawson  and  with  equal 
vigour  began  to  thump  upon  it  in  no  wise  differently 
from  the  manner  of  the  unhappy  mortal  before  him. 

"  Who  shall  say  that  my  chest  is  a  mere  shell?  " 
the  Reflection  said  as  he  did  this.  "  A  mere  reflection 
of  your  own — the  shadow  and  not  the  substance? 
Sir,  you  are  not  the  only  solid  in  the  universe." 

"  There  are  other  methods  of  proof,"  said  Dawson 
sullenly.  He  liked  the  situation  less  every  minute. 
"  I've  got  friends.  I  could  leave  the  question  of  my 
substantiality  to  them." 

"And  do  you  know  what  they  would  reply?" 
asked  the  Reflection  with  a  chuckle  as  he  reflected 
upon  the  many  possible  answers  Dawson's  friends 
might  make  to  such  an  interrogation.  '  They  would 
possibly  say  that  you  needed  a  rest,  and  some  of 
them  would  suggest  that  you'd  better  try  the  Keeley 


Dawson's  Dilemma  85 

Cure  while  there  was  yet  time.  You'd  look  well 
going  to  your  friend  Baker  for  instance,  and  saying, 
'  See  here,  Jack,  I've  just  had  a  dispute  with  my 
reflection  up  in  the  shaving  glass.  It  says  it's  me! ' 
What  do  you  think  Baker  would  say  to  that?  I 
think  myself  that  he  would  suggest  a  committee  to 
inquire  into  your  sanity." 

Dawson's  uneasiness  increased  visibly  and  his 
agitation  must  have  become  painful  to  witness,  for 
his  Reflection  turned  its  back  upon  him  and  walking 
to  the  window,  stood  gazing  out  upon  the  busy  street 
below.  Dawson's  agitation  gave  place  to  a  sudden 
outburst  of  anger  and  he  cried  imperatively : 

"  We'll  see  about  that,  my  friend !  Just  to  bring 
the  point  to  a  straightforward  issue,  I  command 
you  to  return  here  where  I  can  see  your  face  and  so 
finish  my  shave !  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Reflection  turning  from  the 
window  and  leaning  gracefully  against  the  bureau. 
"  Since  you  choose  to  be  foolish  and  arbitrary  about 
it  I  will  consent  to  making  the  issue.  I  should  have 
assisted  you,  Dawson,  in  the  completion  of  your 
toilet  with  all  my  heart,  for  I  really  like  you  and 
admire  your  rather  rare  ambition  to  keep  yourself 
always  well  groomed.  If  all  men  were  as  careful 
of  their  personal  appearance  as  you  are  the  human 
race  would  be  rather  more  pleasing  to  the  human 
eye.  But  since  you  choose  to  play  the  Hector  with 
me  I  will  gratify  you  by  putting  up  a  little  Hector 
of  my  own.  I'll  see  you  hanged  before  I  will  stand 


86  A  House  Party 

face  to  face  with  you.  No  sir,  not  even  that  you  may 
rid  yourself  of  the  twenty-four  hours'  growth  of 
beard  upon  your  otherwise  classic  chin,  whicht  I 
regret  to  observe  does  not  add  very  much  to  the 
beauty  of  your  countenance/' 

With  this  parting  fling  Dawson  was  dismayed  to 
see  his  Reflection  put  on  its  collar,  tie,  waist  coat 
and  coat,  wind  up  the  semblance  of  its  watch,  seize  a 
hat  from  the  knob  of  the  brass  bed-post,  wink  smil 
ingly  back  at  him  and  disappear  through  the  re 
flected  door-way,  slamming  it  with  such  violence 
after  him  that  the  mirror  itself  shook  visibly. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Dawson  went  to  busi 
ness  that  morning  unshaven,  and  with  his  tie  ar 
ranged  about  his  neck  in  a  most  disorderly  fashion, 
for  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  house  there  was  to 
be  found  nowhere,  cracked  or  otherwise,  any  mirror 
that  would  return  to  him  his  counterfeit  presentment. 

On  leaving  the  house  Dawson  walked  rapidly 
down  the  street.  To  say  that  he  was  nervous  is  a 
pitifully  weak  description  of  his  condition.  But  a 
few  moments  in  the  crisp  air  of  the  morning,  re 
stored  him  somewhat,  and  from  thinking  about 
his  mental  state  he  came  to  worry  about  that 
lesser  thing,  his  personal  appearance.  Realising 
the  possible  condition  of  his  neck-wear  he  decided 
to  take  his  mirrored  self  by  surprise  in  the  large 
plate  glass  windows  of  the  department-store  on 
the  corner,  and  so  correct  whatever  shortcomings 
his  dress  might  present.  This  was  a  substitute  for 


Dawson's  Dilemma  87 

a  mirror  which  in  the  course  of  his  occasional  wan 
derings  up  and  down  the  many  shopping  streets  of 
New  York  he  had  observed  was  popular  and  ap 
parently  quite  satisfactory  to  such  suburban  ladies 
as  desired  to  see  how  they  looked  after  emerging 
from  the  overcrowded  trains  which  daily  carry 
into  town  the  thousands  of  shoppers  who  come  to 
expend  up-town  that  which  has  been  earned  down 
town.  He  was,  however,  doomed  to  disappointment. 
The  Reflection-Dawson  was  not  to  be  caught  nap 
ping  by  any  such  feminine  subterfuge  and  declined  to 
respond  to  his  passing.  The  result  was  that  Dawson 
was  compelled  to  go  his  way  with  the  uneasy  feeling 
that  he  was  not  looking  his  best.  Fortune  favoured 
him  in  one  respect,  however,  in  so  far  as  his  tie  was 
concerned,  for  upon  the  elevated  train  he  encount 
ered  his  friend  Wilkins  of  Kings  Bridge  whose  first 
remark  to  him  was: 

"  Good  Lord,  Dawson,  who  tied  your  tie?  " 
Whereupon,  Dawson  hitherto  impeccable  as  to  his 
dress,  seeing  his  chance  to  rectify  a  portion  of  his 
disorder  at  least,  with  a  mock  show  of  withering 
contempt,  grasped  one  end  of  his  scarf,  jerked  it 
loose,  and  throwing  his  head  back,  retorted  sar 
castically. 

"  If  you  don't  like  it,  Wilkins,  suppose  you  tie 
it  yourself,"  which  Wilkins  promptly  did,  much  to 
Dawson's  inward  relief,  though  outwardly  he  was 
calmly  contemptuous  of  Wilkins  and  all  his  subur 
ban  crew. 


88  A  House  Party 

"  Thanks,"  said  he  drily.  "  I  always  said  you'd 
make  a  good  valet,  Wilkins.  If  you  ever  get  fired 
from  your  position  at  the  bank,  come  to  me,  and  I'll 
let  you  be  my  man."  Which  remark  I  think  was 
very  ungrateful,  but  gratitude  after  all  is  not  to  be 
expected  of  a  man,  so  fearfully  put  upon  as  Dawson 
had  been  that  morning. 

At  the  office,  fortunately,  Dawson  found  a  great 
pressure  of  work  requiring  immediate  attention, 
becoming  absorbed  in  which  he  shortly  forgot  both 
his  aching  brow,  his  tie  and  the  disquieting  episode 
of  the  early  morning.  One  o'clock  found  him  still 
busy,  when  a  call  by  telephone  brought  him  an  invi 
tation  to  take  luncheon  with  one  of  his  clients  at 
the  Savarin,  in  the  room  above-stairs.  Dawson, 
suddenly  realising  that  he  was  hungry,  promptly 
accepted,  and  twenty  minutes  later  found  himself 
seated  at  one  of  the  smaller  tables  of  the  ladies'  caf£ 
vis-a-vis  to  his  most  valient  client,  Colonel  Judson, 
a  robber  Baron  of  the  Southern  Pacific  System,  as 
the  Western  newspapers  delighted  to  call  him,  and 
be  it  said  as  good  a  chap  as  was  ever  a  pirate. 
Colonel  Judson  was,  in  many  respects,  the  most 
lucrative  of  Dawson's  clients.  It  was  their  habit 
to  talk  over  the  Colonel's  business  complications, 
and  possible  remedies  therefor  at  the  luncheon 
table,  because  the  Colonel  was  too  busy  at  other 
times  to  attend  to  such  trivial  details  as  law 
suits,  whether  they  involved  millions,  or  thousands. 
Those  who  have  lunched  in  this  charming  annex 


Dawson's  Dilemma  89 

to  the  Cafe*  Savarin  will  possibly  remember  what 
Dawson  had  not  thought  of  when  he  accepted  the 
invitation ;  that  its  walls  in  lieu  of  paper,  or  papier- 
mache,  or  other  painted  decorations,  have  placed 
upon  almost  every  inch  of  the  available  mural  space, 
plate-glass  mirrors  of  the  most  transcendent  quality. 
One  can  almost  see  the  future  in  these  mirrors,  so 
quick  are  they.  As  I  have  already  said  Dawson  had 
also  forgotten  the  little  incident  of  the  morning  com 
pletely — in  fact  he  was  normal  at  this  hour — and  as 
he  sat  there  smothering  his  oysters  in  horse-radish, 
paprika,  tabasco  sauce,  and  such  other  condiments  as 
the  table  afforded,  he  was  blissfully  unconscious  of 
the  horrid  fact  that  his  Reflection  was  still  off  on 
strike.  Fortunately,  too,  Colonel  Judson  was  so 
absorbed  in  the  complications  of  the  moment,  to 
confer  about  which  he  had  summoned  Dawson,  that 
he  did  not  observe  the  uncanny  condition  of  affairs 
any  more  than  did  the  hero  of  this  tale.  Nor  is 
it  likely  that  two  men  so  thoroughly  taken  up  with 
other  matters  than  their  mirrored  selves,  would,  in 
the  course  of  the  luncheon,  have  observed  the  fact 
that  one  of  them  made  no  impression  upon  the  mirror 
at  his  side,  had  not  one  of  the  accomplished  French 
waiters  of  the  establishment  in  the  very  midst  of  one 
of  the  Colonel's  most  important  confidences,  for 
gotten  that  he  was  paid  to  serve,  and  not  to  see.  The 
Parisian  person  who  chances  to  be  the  hero  of  this 
paragraph,  forgot  his  duties  utterly.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  he  was  not  a  born  waiter — but  a  made 


90  A  House  Party  : 

one  taken  in,  temporarily — a  waiter  with  emotions 
beyond  his  place — one  who  would  eat  a  confection 
he  happened  to  like  before  he  would  serve  it.  The 
person  involved,  dropped  with  a  loud  crash,  first  a 
tray  full  of  attractive  edibles,  and  next  himself  to 
his  knees,  pointing  meanwhile  with  vociferous  ex 
clamations  of  terror  at  the  mirror  at  Dawson's  side, 
which  as  I  have  already  shown,  failed  in  spite  of 
its  transcendent  merit  to  render  back  that  which  had 
been  given  unto  it.  On  the  instant  Dawson  realised 
what  had  happened.  The  observant  waiter  had  dis 
covered  his  temporarily-forgotten  secret,  and  it 
had  driven  him  mad! 

"  This  is  a  pretty  howdy-do,"  Dawson  muttered 
to  himself.  "  What  the  devil  will  the  Colonel  think 
if  he  sees  it!  I  think  I'd  better  get  out  of  this." 
Which  as  the  Frenchman  still  continued,  with  many 
a  shrugging  of  his  shoulders,  and  piteous  uplifting 
of  his  eyes  to  a  Merciful  Providence,  Dawson  found 
it  easy  to  do,  excusing  himself  on  the  ground  that 
"  somebody  ought  to  call  an  ambulance,"  as  if  he 
were  the  only  person  capable  of  the  task. 

As  he  rushed  to  the  door  he  realised  the  further 
embarrassment  of  his  position  in  that  he  was  uncere 
moniously  deserting  Colonel  Judson.  To  go  back, 
however,  was  impossible.  Fortunately  the  Colonel 
was  of  the  same  mind  and  followed  him  closely  with 
the  suggestion  that  they  have  their  luncheon  served 
down  stairs  in  the  main  caf 6,  where,  he  understood, 
the  waiters  were  moderately  sane.  All  became 


Dawson's  Dilemma  91 

serene  once  more;  that  is  apparently  so,  for  it  would 
be  idle  to  say  that  Dawson's  calm  and  unruffled  ex 
terior  was  in  anywise  indicative  of  the  actual  condi 
tion  of  his  soul. 

At  any  rate  he  pulled  through  the  ordeal  without 
disaster,  and  when  he  and  the  Colonel  parted  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Dawson  threw  him 
self  down  upon  the  couch  in  his  office  library  utterly 
broken,  in  body  and  in  spirit. 

An  hour's  nap  which  blissfully  was  dreamless,  re 
stored  him  sufficiently  to  enable  him  to  walk  up  town 
to  his  club,  where  whatever  might  happen  he  in 
tended  to  get  the  shave  he  had  lost  in  the  privacy  of 
one  of  the  club  bedrooms,  where  the  barber  could 
shave  him  without  the  necessity  of  his  sitting  before 
a  mirror. 

He  walked  briskly  up  Broadway  and  as  the 
twilight  faded  into  the  darkness  of  night  he  paused 
to  look  into  the  windows  of  a  prominent  jeweller's 
shop  in  Union  Square,  where  gems  of  many  kinds, 
in  gorgeous  settings,  flashed  brilliantly  beneath  the 
glare  of  the  electric  lights. 

"  What  a  beautiful  display,"  Dawson  thought  as 
he  stood  there  drinking  in  the  magnificence  before 
him,  and  then  he  saw  that  which  was  more  delightful 
to  his  eyes  than  all  that  lay  within,  nay,  more  than 
all  the  riches  of  Golconda  or  the  treasures  of  Monte 
Cristo,  spread  in  his  lap,  could  possibly  have  been. 
That  which  he  saw  was  his  own  Reflection,  which 
had  all  day  been  denied  him,  returned  to  him,  indul- 


92  A  House  Party 

gent  if  not  repentant,  for  it  smiled  upon  him  genially, 
with  a  smile  which  showed  no  regret  whatsoever. 

If  Dawson  could  have  clasped  the  thing  in  his 
arms,  and  smothered  it  with  fraternal  caresses,  I  am 
inclined  to  think  he  would  have  done  so,  but  of 
course  this  was  impossible.  The  heavy  French 
plate-glass  intervened.  So  he  contented  himself  with 
a  smiling  welcome  and  the  heartfelt  ejaculation: 

"  By  Jove,  old  chap,  I  never  was  so  glad  to  see 
anybody  in  all  my  life." 

And  the  Reflection  apparently  shared  in  the  joys 
of  the  reunion,  for  even  as  Dawson  showed  his  de 
light  at  the  restoration,  so  did  the  Reflection,  and,  be 
it  added,  with  almost  slavish  imitation. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  there  gazing  into  each 
other's  eyes,  as  if  delighted,  when  suddenly  the 
Reflection  with  a  wink  and  a  nod  of  his  head  to  Daw- 
son's  left,  called  his  attention  to  a  ragged  figure  at 
his  side.  The  fellow  was  one  of  those  unfortunate 
persons  to  whom  it  is  the  custom  to  refer  as  the  flot 
sam  and  jetsam  of  society;  human  wrecks  upon  the 
sea  of  life  whose  mission  it  is  to  wander  ever  on 
with  no  hope  of  satisfaction.  He,  even  as  Dawson 
had  been  doing,  was  gazing  with  wide  open  eyes, 
and  with  heaven  only  knows  what  thoughts,  upon 
the  marvellous  display  of  riches  within. 

Dawson  glanced  at  him  with  a  closer  scrutiny  than 
perhaps  he  would  have  accorded  him  had  not  the 
Reflection  called  his  attention  to  his  chance  com 
panion.  The  other  noting  it  returned  a  single  de- 


Dawson's  Dilemma  93 

fiant  glance  and  slunk  away  and  was  soon  lost  in  the 
crowds  which  were  hurrying  to  and  fro. 

"  Well,"  said  Dawson  as  the  fellow  disappeared. 
"  What  about  him  ?  I  don't  find  him  particularly 
interesting." 

"  Another  exhibit  to  prove  that  point  of  slavish- 
ness  or  rather  the  lack  of  it  which  you  so  foolishly 
raised  this  morning.  Why  do  you  suppose,"  said 
the  Reflection  "  that  his  Reflection  on  my  side  of 
the  glass,  being  a  slave,  as  you  contend,  did  not 
instantly  do  that  which  you  and  I  know  the  master 
would  have  commanded  had  he  possessed  the  power? 
Why  do  these  jewels,  any  one  of  which  would  rep 
resent  a  fortune  beyond  his  wildest  hopes,  still  re 
main  here  a  constant  source  of  temptation  to  thou 
sands  of  others  like  him?  If  he  were  a  slave  that 
tramp's  Reflection  would  have  swiped  every  jewel 
in  sight." 

Dawson  was  floored  and  he  knew  it.  But  his  usual 
readiness  of  retort  stood  him  in  good  stead. 

"  I  rather  think,"  said  he,  "that  he  was  afraid  of 
you." 

The  Reflection  laughed.  "  You're  a  great  Daw- 
son,"  it  said.  "  I  think  you  would  better  hurry  up 
town  to  the  Club  and  get  that  long-lost  shave,  if 
you  don't  want  to  be  hailed  as  Rip  Van  Winkle 
when  you  appear  at  Miss  Robertson's  for  dinner 
to-night." 

"  Jove,"  cried  Dawson,  looking  hurriedly  at  his 
watch.  "  Thanks  to  you  and  your  infernal  inde- 


94  A  House  Party 

pendence,  which  I  frankly  grant  you  from  this  time 
on,  I'd  forgotten  all  about  Miss  Robertson  and 
her  dinner.  So  long  old  chap."  And  he  waved  his 
hand  at  his  Reflection  in  the  jeweller's  window. 
The  Reflection  burst  out  into  a  hearty  laugh  and 
replied : 

"  Oh,  no  my  dear  boy.  I'm  going  to  dine  there 
abouts  myself,  and  if  about  the  middle  of  that  dinner 
to-night  you  will  only  look  through  the  buffet  mir 
ror  at  the  end  of  the  Robertson's  dining  room,  you 
will  see  me  dining  with  a  rather  attractive  young 
woman  myself.  I  don't  know  about  you,  but  we're 
engaged." 

"  You  are  rushing  things," said  Dawson.  "  You'll 
excuse  me  for  saying  it,"  he  added  good  naturedly 
"  but  I  think  you're  a  little  bit  too  d d  inde 
pendent.  I  don't  mind  your  refusing  to  follow  me, 
but  I'm  hanged  if  I  like  being  anticipated  in  that 
way." 

The  Reflection  smiled  pleasantly  and  replied : 

"  If  you'll  only  live  up  to  what  I've  anticipated  in 
your  behalf,  you'll  be  a  very  happy  man,  Dawson. 
It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  as  I  told  you  at  the  outset 
if  you  would  flatter  me  with  your  imitation.  I 
thought  I'd  tell  you  about  my  engagement  though  I 
didn't  intend  to  when  we  started  in,  because  in  spite 
of  your  hot  temper,  you're  dead  slow.  Dead  slow, 
Dawson,  I  repeat  it.  Yet  as  jealous  as  Othello  and 
as  irritable;  and  it  may  be  that  to-night  in  looking 
at  myself  and  my  companion  at  dinner  you  may 


Dawson's  Dilemma  95 

observe  me  doing  certain  .things  which  will  arouse 
your  ire  and  yet  which  even  now  you  might  be 
doing  if  it  were  not  that  when  it  comes  to  making 
love  a  snail  could  give  you  points.  Whatever  you 
may  see  me  doing,  keep  quiet,  and  if  you  get  the 
chance  go  and  do  likewise." 

"  How  can  I  ?  "  said  Dawson.  "  Mrs.  Robertson 
will  of  course  be  present.  How  shall  I  manage 
her?" 

"  Dawson,"  said  the  Reflection,  "  there  are  certain 
things  in  this  world  that  men  have  to  do  for  them 
selves.  I've  got  all  I  can  do  managing  the  old  lady 
on  my  side  of  the  glass  without  looking  after  those 
similarly  advanced  in  years  on  yours.  Now  hurry 
up  and  get  up  town  and  dress.  I'll  help  you  all  I 
can,  fact  is  I've  got  to.  We  are  both  rather  late, 
and,  while  I'm  not  your  slave,  I  do  find  you  very 
useful  when  it  comes  to  the  selection  of  a  shirt  and 
waistcoat  and  collar." 

And  with  that  they  proceeded  up  town  together 
to  Dawson's  rooms,  which  somehow  or  other  now 
seemed  more  cheerful  and  less  lonesome  than  they 
had  ever  been  before." 

I  am  of  the  opinion  that  if  Dawson  could  have 
foreseen  the  difficulties  of  that  dinner  he  would 
have  been  willing  to  dispense  with  the  services  of 
his  Reflection  until  the  following  morning.  As 
if  to  impress  upon  him  more  forcibly  than  he  had 
yet  done  the  idea  of  his  complete  independence  of 
his  original,  the  Reflection,  aided  and  abetted  I 


96  A  House  Party 

regret  to  say  by  that  of  his  fair  hostess,  behaved  at 
first  with  an  irresponsibility  that  might  almost  be 
termed  outrageous. 

The  diversion  began  in  the  drawing-room  before 
dinner  was  announced.  Dawson  upon  his  arrival 
had  bade  Au  revoir  in  the  hall  mirror  to  his  other- 
self,  and  turning,  had  entered  where  sat  Miss  Rob 
ertson  and  her  mother,  and  a  certain  Mr.  Horace 
Webster  who  made  the  fourth  of  the  little  party. 
The  greeting  between  them  having  passed,  Dawson 
was  about  to  sit  down  upon  a  comfortable  chair  fac 
ing  the  windows  of  the  drawing-room  between  which 
stood  a  large  cheval  glass  of  antique  design;  the 
others  sat  with  their  backs  to  this  mirror,  which  stood 
in  the  shadow  of  the  far  end  of  the  room.  What  went 
on  in  it  was  observable  only  to  Dawson.  His  agi 
tation  may  well  be  imagined  when  he  observed  an 
entirely  different  sort  of  greeting  going  on  on  the 
other  side  of  the  glass,  when  the  reflected  Dawson 
arrived.  I  leave  it  to  the  imagination,  or,  if  they 
prefer,  to  the  remembrance  of  persons  who  have  been 
engaged  to  be  married  as  to  how  the  reflected  Miss 
Robertson  greeted  the  equally  unsubstantial  Mr. 
Dawson.  I  shall  not  go  into  the  details  of  the  cere 
mony  because  my  knowledge  of  what  would  be 
likely  to  happen  under  the  circumstances  is  based  en 
tirely  upon  my  own  experiences  as  a  participant  in 
similar  complications,  and  the  young  ladies  involved 
might  not  be  pleased  to  find  me  turning  those  varied 
and  fascinating  experiences  into  what  is  vulgarly 


Davvson's  Dilemma  97 

known  as  copy.  Suffice  it  to  say  it  happened,  and 
Davvson  seeing  it  gasped  and  realising  the  situation 
anew  plumped  with  more  force  than  elegance  into 
his  chair.  The  ladies  looked  anxiously  at  him  and 
I  am  not  sure  but  that  Mr.  Horace  Webster  gained 
the  impression  that  Dawson  had  stopped  at  several 
of  his  clubs  on  his  way  from  his  house  to  the  Rob 
ertson's.  Dawson  himself  made  a  strenuous  effort 
to  regain  his  wonted  composure,  and  was  so  far  suc 
cessful  that  he  was  able  to  say  that  it  had  been  a 
delightful  day,  although  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  had 
been  about  the  rawest,  dampest  day  there  had  been 
during  the  season. 

"Think  so?"  drawled  Webster  superciliously. 
"  Some  people  have  queer  tastes  in  weather." 

"  I  do,"  said  Dawson  abruptly,  in  fact  so  sav 
agely  that  Miss  Robertson  began  to  grow  seriously 
apprehensive  as  to  the  success  of  the  evening;  and 
Webster  was  confirmed  in  his  belief  that  Dawson 
had  not  been  as  careful  in  the  matter  of  his  libations 
as  he  ought  to  have  been. 

Perceiving  his  error  and  desiring  to  correct  the 
unpleasant  impression  he  could  not  help  but  feel  that 
he  was  making,  Dawson  flew  to  the  opposite  ex 
treme,  and  became  freshly  jocular.  He  addressed 
Mrs.  Robertson  after  the  manner  of  one  who  was 
speaking  to  a  debutante,  which  did  not  by  any  means 
displease  that  lady,  who  having  turned  fifty  some 
times  rather  enjoyed  a  reminder  of  her  past.  He 
became  profusely  jocose  with  Webster  in  spite  of  the 


98  A  House  Party 

growing  hatred  of  that  person,  which  had  been  for 
a  long  time  implanted  in  his  breast,  and  as  for  his 
attentions  to  Miss  Robertson  herself,  these  became 
so  flippant  that  it  recalled  the  mirrored  Reflections 
to  their  senses.  They  by  all  the  telegraphic  signs 
in  their  knowledge,  motions  with  the  hands,  the  lips, 
and  shakings  of  the  head,  warned  him  against  fur 
ther  pursuit  of  this  course  of  action.  So  earnest  did 
they  become  that  Dawson  in  the  middle  of  a  sen 
tence  stopped  suddenly  short  and  craning  his  neck 
toward  the  mirror  with  a  forward  inclination  of 
his  body  ejaculated  "What?"  as  though  some  one 
had  said  something  that  he  had  not  quite  caught. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  he  muttered  under  his  breath  as 
he  realised  what  he  had  done,  but  at  this  moment 
Mrs.  Robertson  and  her  daughter,  and  Webster  as 
well,  turned  to  see  what  it  was  at  that  end  of  the 
room  that  had  arrested  Dawson's  attention.  If 
Dawson  had  been  dull  in  apprehending  the  danger 
signals  of  the  teasing  spirits,  they  were  by  no  means 
blind  to  the  necessities  of  the  situation  and  as  the 
two  ladies  and  Webster  turned  about  the  four  Reflec 
tions  were  arranged  in  as  orderly  a  fashion  and  as 
appropriately  as  they  would  have  been  had  they  been 
merely  the  slaves  Dawson  had  originally  thought 
them. 

"  What  is  what?  "  asked  Webster. 

"  Oh,"  said  Dawson  pulling  himself  together  with 
an  effort,  "  It's  that  Louis  XIV  mirror  back  there 
between  the  windows.  I  had  never  observed  it  be- 


Dawson's  Dilemma  99 

fore  and  er — you  know  I — and  er  you  know  I — I'm 
interested  in  old  furniture.  My  er — my  family  used 
to  have  a  great  deal  of  it  in  the  last  century  you 
know."  Here  he  laughed  nervously  at  his  own 
joke.  "  And  I  still  have  one  or  two  pieces  which 
have  come  down  to  me  from  my  ancestors,"  he 
added. 

"  We  have  had  that  mirror,  Mr.  Dawson,"  said 
Mrs.  Robertson,  "  for  years  and  years." 

"  Why  yes,"  said  Miss  Robertson  "  you  certainly 
have  seen  it  before.  Don't  you  remember  we  were 
talking  about  it  the  last  time  you  were  here?  " 

"  Oh  is  that  the  one?  "  said  Dawson.  "  I  thought 
it  was  a  Louis  Quinze  we  were  discussing.  The 
effect  of  the  light  at  that  end  of  the  room  con 
veyed  to  my  mind  the  idea  that  it  was  something 
new." 

"  Like  most  other  ancient  furniture,"  said  Web 
ster.  And  amid  the  mild  laughter  of  the  company 
at  this  sally  Dawson  was  delighted  to  hear  the  butler 
at  the  broad  portiered  door  at  the  rear,  announce 
to  Mrs.  Robertson  that  dinner  was  served.  Fortu 
nately  the  behaviour  of  the  Reflections  before  dinner 
was  no  criterion  of  that  which  was  to  follow.  If  it 
had  been  so,  I  doubt  if  Dawson  would  have  lived 
sanely  through  the  meal.  The  Reflected  figures 
seemed  thoroughly  to  appreciate  the  situation,  and 
observing  that  there  was  a  point  beyond  which  Daw- 
son's  nervous  system  might  not  be  stretched,  care 
fully  abstained  from  all  further  efforts  to  disturb  his 


ioo  A  House  Party 

equanimity.  The  result  was  that  Dawson  speedily 
became  himself  again  and  managed  before  long 
to  correct  the  wrong  impression  of  the  early  part 
of  the  evening;  beginning  with  which  time  Web 
ster  very  naturally  began  to  feel  himself  some 
what  at  a  disadvantage,  and  shortly  after  the  coffee, 
departed  leaving  Dawson  master  of  the  field.  Sorry 
to  relate  Mrs.  Robertson  did  not  do  likewise,  so 
that  our  poor  principal  was  compelled  to  sit  through 
the  evening,  or  rather  that  portion  of  it  between 
demi-tasse  and  his  departure,  his  natural  inclina 
tions  bound  as  if  in  chains  and  tantalised  by  having 
to  witness  a  tete-a-tete  in  the  mirror  which  was  in 
its  every  detail  quite  in  line  with  that  experience 
which  I  have  already  mentioned,  but  for  the  sake 
of  others  have  hesitated  to  describe  in  full  particu 
lar.  With  all  this  going  on  before  him  it  is  hardly 
to  be  wondered  at  that  Miss  Robertson  found  Daw- 
son  a  rather  dull  companion,  and  after  his  departure, 
shortly  after  Un  o'clock,  she  should  have  gone  to  her 
room  and  tearfully  complained  to  the  sad-faced 
little  creature  who  gazed  back  at  her  from  the 
depths  of  her  dressing-table  glass,  that  life  was  an 
empty  sort  of  a  dream  after  all. 

But  what  the  deuce  her  reflection  had  to  cry  about 
I  must  confess  I  cannot  even  guess,  for  as  far  as 
I  know  there  was  nothing  disappointing  in  her 
Dawson  as  a  lover. 

Dawson  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  left  the 
house,  and  started  home.  "  It's  a  wonder,"  said  he, 


Dawson's  Dilemma  loj 

"  that  I'm  alive.  I  think  I'll  go  to  the  club  and  get 
a  night-cap." 

Acting  upon  this  impulse  he  hailed  a  passing 
hansom,  jumped  into  it  and  rode  down  the  Boule 
vard  in  the  direction  of  his  club.  As  a  still  further 
assuagement  to  his  troubled  soul,  he  took  out  a 
cigar  and  in  the  act  of  lighting  it  perceived  his  Re 
flected  self  gazing  at  him  out  of  the  little  mirror  at 
the  side. 

"  You're  a  nice  fellow,  you  are/'  he  said.  "  You 
raised  the  very  devil  with  me  to-night." 

"  It  wasn't  my  fault,"  said  the  other.  "  It  was 
Miss  Robertson's  other  self  that  egged  me  on. 
Women  as  a  rule  think  it  great  sport  to  plague  chaps 
in  your  position.  What  could  I  do?  '? 

"  You    might    have    protested,"    said    Dawson. 

"  Humph,"  said  the  Reflection.  "  It  is  very  evi 
dent  you've  never  been  engaged.  If  you  had  been 
you'd  have  known  that  the  man  never  protests  about 
anything  the  glorious  She  wants  to  do.  She  is 
his  ideal  and  everything  she  does  is  just  right.  All 
the  protests  come  after  marriage." 

"You  are  a  cynical  spirit,  aren't  you?"  said 
Dawson. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  the  Reflection.  "  I  have  all  your 
evil  qualities  in  full  measure,  but  in  subjection. 
Furthermore  I  think  the  experience  was  a  good  thing 
for  you.  It  gives  you  a  hint  as  to  what  you  ought 
to  hurry  up  and  do  yourself,  and  it  will  teach  you 
self-control.  If  you'd  had  any  backbone  yourself 


,102  -  «A  House  Party 

you  needn't  have  got  so  frightfully  rattled  as  you 
did  to-night.  Webster  made  a  better  showing  than 
you  did." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Dawson.  "  Where  does 
Webster's  Reflection  come  in  in  your  little  ro 
mance?  " 

"  It  doesn't,"  said  the  other.  "  He's  out  of  it, 
which  is  a  purely  literary  way  of  saying  he's  not  in 
it." 

"  How  did  you  get  rid  of  him  ?  "  asked  Dawson. 

"  Didn't  have  to,"  said  the  Reflection.  "  Which 
also  ought  to  show  you,  my  dear  Dawson,  how 
much  more  attractive  I  am  than  you  are.  It  was  a 
case  of  first  sight  with  my  Miss  Robertson.  Do 
you  remember  where  we  first  met?  " 

"  I  remember  where  we  first  met,"  said  Dawson. 
"  It  was  at  the  Henley's  tea.  I  thought  Miss  Robert 
son  on  that  occasion  a  very  attractive  young  person, 
but  a  little  stiff  and  reserved  in  her  manner." 

"  That's  what  I  thought  when  I  met  mine/'  said 
the  Reflection.  "  But  I  knew  at  once  that  the  stiffer 
and  more  reserved  she  appeared  to  be  to  me,  the 
more  likely  it  was  that  the  emotion  she  experienced 
upon  meeting  me,  was  of  the  kind  that  required  a 
special  effort  to  control.  I  recognised  in  Miss  Rob 
ertson's  reserve  when  she  met  me  the  fact  that  I  had 
made  an  impression,  and  I've  taken  mighty  good 
care  ever  since  to  foster  it,  whereas  you  have  been  so 
awfully  timid  about  your  manifest  duty,  that  you've 
left  all  sorts  of  loopholes  for  chaps  like  Horace 


Dawson's  Dilemma  103 

Webster  to  trespass  upon  what  might  have  been 
your  preserves." 

"  Nevertheless,"  put  in  Dawson,  "  Webster  was 
there  on  your  side." 

"  Of  course  he  was,"  said  the  Reflection.  "  We 
owe  something  to  conventionality  and  it  was  only 
courteous  that  inasmuch  as  Webster  was  on  your 
side  of  the  glass,  his  Reflection  should  appear  on  our 
side.  We  couldn't  without  seeming  to  be  very  arbi 
trary,  and  unconventional,  intimate  to  Webster's  Re 
flection  that  while  his  original  was  dining  with  you, 
he  himself  should  be  compelled  to  wander  up  and 
down  outside  on  the  cold  street  waiting  for  your 
Webster  to  come  out.  Furthermore,"  the  Reflection 
added,  his  voice  sinking  to  a  confidential  whisper, 
"  our  engagement  is  not  yet  known  even  to  the  old 
lady.  In  the  management  of  old  ladies  under  such 
peculiar  circumstances  there  is  nothing  like  having  a 
fourth  party  to  engage  her  occasionally  in  conversa 
tion.  It  works  with  the  most  persistent  dragon  of  a 
chaperon  and  there  have  been  many  love  affairs 
brought  to  their  logical  conclusion  under  the  very 
eyes  of  a  disapproving  mamma  through  the  instru 
mentality  of  that  same  blessed  fourth  person  who 
can  manage  to  take  her  eye  off  the  immediate  busi 
ness  in  hand." 

"Thanks  for  the  hint,"  said  Dawson  "I'll  re 
member  that,  but  where  are  you  bound  ?  " 

"  Club,"  replied  the  Reflection  laconically. 

"  That's  bad  business  for  an  engaged  man,"  said 


104  A  House  Party 

Dawson.  "  Don't  see  what  you  want  to  go  to  the 
Club  for  after  such  an  evening  as  you've  had." 

"  Well  there  are  two  reasons,"  said  the  Reflection, 
"  for  wanting  to  go.  In  the  first  place  it's  the  best 
time  for  an  engaged  man  to  go  to  the  Club.  A  man 
who  goes  to  the  Club  before  he  calls  upon  his  fiancee, 
has  either  to  indulge  in  total  abstinence  or  possibly 
subject  himself  to  a  lecture.  The  wise  man  does 
not  encourage  the  lecture  habit  in  his  best  girl.  It 
establishes  a  precedent  which  after  marriage  he  may 
regret.  But  that's  not  at  all  my  real  reason  for  go 
ing.  Personally  I  have  no  more  use  for  the  Club 
at  this  hour  of  the  night  than  I  would  have  for  a 
club  sandwich  after  a  Lord  Mayor's  banquet.  My 
real  reason  for  going  is  that  I  think  you  may  need 
looking  after.  I  can  read  night-cap  in  your  eye,  and 
as  I  look  farther  down  into  your  optics,  it  seems  to 
me  I  can  see  indications  that  without  much  pressure 
you  could  be  induced  to  take  all  you  need  and  about 
three  more." 

"  Again  I  thank  you,"  said  Dawson.  "  You're  a 
good  chap  to  look  after  me  so  carefully.  I  wish  to 
thunder  you'd  be  as  kind  to  me  when  I  really  need 
you.  You  can't  blame  me  for  wanting  to  restore  my 
shattered  nerves.  Try  as  you  may  you  cannot  shirk 
the  responsibility  for  my  condition." 

"  That  is  precisely  why  I  am  here,"  said  the  other. 
"  However,  if  you  don't  want  me  I'll  go  back  to  the 
Robertson's.  Miss  Robertson  has  retired  doubtless 
by  this  time  and  possibly  I  can  have  an  opportunity 


Dawson's  Dilemma  105 

to  call  upon  her  Reflection  for  an  hour  without 
any  interruption  from  the  cold  and  reserved  origi 
nal." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  cried  Dawson  "  that 
you  Reflections  can  meet  independently  of  us? 
You're  not  so  infernally  independent  as  all  that, 
are  you?  " 

"  Of  course,"  was  the  answer.  "  Many  is  the 
time  in  the  country  when  I  have  taken  moonlight 
rowrs  on  the  lake  with  Reflections  of  my  acquaintance 
whilst  you  were  soundly  sleeping  up  in  your  little 
six-by-nine  bed  room  on  the  top  floor,'  dreaming 
what  a  good  time  you  were  having  in  the  moun 
tains.  You  were  doing  the  dreaming  and  I  was 
having  the  good  time." 

"  Jove!  "  cried  Dawson.  I4  You  do  lead  an  ideal 
life,  don't  you?  Are  you  responsible  for  your  acts 
to  any  kind  of  a  being  in  the  heavens  above  or  the 
earth  beneath  or  the  waters  under  the  earth  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  the  Reflection. 

"To  what?'*  cried  Dawson.  "God,  man  or 
Devil?" 

"To  a  little  of  all  three,"  said  the  Reflection. 
"  Not  to  myself,  but  to  my  ideal  of  you." 

Dawson  was  properly  impressed  and  indeed  some 
what  overcome  by  this  show  of  loyalty  on  his 
Reflection's  part  and  with  a  genial  smile  to  his  vis-a 
vis,  he  said. 

"  You're  better  than  a  cock-tail,  old  chap;  and  I 
don't  know  but  I'll  show  my  gratitude  by  releasing 


106  A  House  Party 

you  from  your  responsibility.  I'll  go  without  the 
night-cap  and  seek  my  downy  couch.'' 

"  Good,"  said  the  Reflection.  "  Under  my  guid 
ance  you  are  gradually  becoming  a  wise  man." 

And  with  this  Dawson  bade  the  cabman  retrace  his 
steps  and  drive  him  home. 

Next  day,  mercifully  for  Dawson,  who  was  physi 
cally  and  mentally  exhausted,  was  Sunday.  There 
fore  there  was  no  necessity  for  his  rising  even  with  a 
moderately  lazy  lark,  and  the  morning  sun  stream 
ing  in  through  his  chamber  window  found  him 
sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just.  Nine,  ten  and 
eleven  o'clock  struck  on  the  ormolu  clock  on  the 
mantel-shelf.  Fifteen  minutes  later  with  a  nervous 
start  he  awoke,  passed  his  hand  rapidly  over  his  eyes 
and  yawned. 

"  Scott,"  he  ejaculated  with  that  peculiar  intona 
tion  which  comes  at  the  close  of  a  truly  successful 
yawn.  "  I  must  have  been  frightfully  tired.  Slept 
like  a  log  all  night."  He  yawned  again  as  he  rose 
and  walked  somewhat  unsteadily  to  the  glass. 

"  I  must  be  looking  pretty  woozy,"  he  said.  But 
if  he  expected  to  find  confirmation  of  this  description 
of  his  features  he  was  doomed  to  disappointment, 
for  the  reflected  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  glass 
was  empty.  For  an  instant  Dawson  was  very  much 
upset  at  this  discovery  for  in  his  waking  moments 
his  mind  held  no  recollection  of  the  incidents  of 
the  day  before,  or  if  it  did  have  a  glimmering  sense 
of  something  of  that  kind,  it  was  so  slight  and  so 


Dawson's  Dilemma  107 

confused  withal  that  he  might  have  been  excused  for 
setting  it  all  down  as  a  dream. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  reality  of  the  situ 
ation  which  now  confronted  him,  however.  No 
where  in  all  that  reflected  space  beyond,  into  which 
he  peered  with  an  almost  despairful  interest,  was 
there  anything  even  remotely  resembling  human  life. 
That  his  Reflection  had  spent  the  night  at  home  was 
quite  evident  for  the  condition  of  the  bed  made 
manifest  the  fact  that  it  had  been  occupied.  That  he 
must  have  risen  not  long  before  and  dressed  was 
likewise  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  somewhat  gor 
geous  pyjamas  Dawson  had  on  instead  of  being  re 
flected  as  a  part  of  the  environment  of  a  human 
being  were  represented  by  a  little  heap  of  soft  silky 
stuff  tossed  apparently  in  some  haste  in  the  direction 
of  the  clothes-basket,  and  his  clothes  were  missing 
from  the  reflected  room. 

For  a  moment  Dawson  gazed  blankly  into  the 
silver  depths,  then  he  laughed. 

"  I  wonder  what  devilment  he's  up  to  to-day. 
He  probably  couldn't  sleep  and  was  too  impatient 
to  wait  for  me  to  get  up,  but  where  the  Dickens  can 
he  be?  Taking  a  bath  I  wonder?  "  And  he  peered 
in  the  direction  of  the  door  opening  into  the  bath 
room.  This,  however,  was  closed. 

"  I'll  fix  that,"  said  Dawson  turning  his  back  on 
the  glass  and  walking  to  his  own  bath-room  door. 
He  swung  it  open,  but  the  reflected  bath-room  was 
empty  as  the  real. 


io8  A  House  Party 

"  Oh  come,"  cried  Dawson  giving  way  to  impa 
tience.  "  This  is  carrying  it  a  little  too  far.  Come 
out  of  that,"  he  added  putting  his  face  as  close  to  the 
glass  as  he  could  as  if  to  make  himself  better  heard 
on  the  other  side.  "  I  wish  to  get  dressed." 

There  was  no  response  and  then  Dawson  turning 
angrily  away  was  about  to  give  vent  to  his  im 
patience  in  language  of  more  force  than  refinement, 
when  his  eye  fell  upon  a  small  card  pinned  on  the 
back  of  his  mirrored  arm  chair  upon  which  were 
scrawled  in  large  legible  character  the  words : 

"  Unexpectedly  called  away.  Very  important. 
For  explanation  see  note  top  of  escritoire." 

"  Here's  a  howdy-do,"  said  Dawson  as  he  read 
the  remarkable  message.  "  Unexpectedly  called 
away,  eh?  Gone  off  and  left  me  in  the  lurch  be 
cause  of  some  private  little  matter  of  his  own  I 
suppose.  Nice  state  of  affairs  for  a  chap  like  me 
to  have  a  light  and  airy  shadow  setting  up  in 
business  for  himself." 

He  peered  in  again  through  the  glass. 

''What's  that  last  line,  'Very  important— for 
explanation  see  note  top  of  escritoire/  I  wonder 
which  escritoire  he  means,  his  or  mine, — independ 
ent  Jackass !  "  Dawson  was  really  getting  angry. 
"  It's  very  evident''  he  added,  "  that  the  explanation 
can't  be  found  by  me  in  the  top  of  his  escritoire  since 
I  can't  get  at  it,  so  he  must  mean  mine." 

He  opened  the  top  of  his  own  desk  and  found 
nothing  there  save  a  blank  sheet  of  paper. 


Dawson's  Dilemma  109 

"  Gay  explanation  that,"  cried  Dawson  impa 
tiently,  *'  but  I  think  he's  right.  When  he  came  to 
frame  his  note  he  found  his  mind  in  the  same  con 
dition  of  blankness  as  this  sheet  of  paper.  My 
mentor!  I  like  that.  He's  done  more  to  get  me 
into  trouble  in  the  last  forty-eight  hours  than  any 
orgie  at  the  club  could  have  done."  He  slammed 
the  cover  of  the  escritoire  to  and  with  an  angry 
gesture  crumpled  the  offending  sheet  of  paper  in 
his  hand  and  tossed  it  across  the  room.  Then  in 
the  hope  that  his  mirrored  self  might  have  returned, 
he  strode  back  to  the  glass  and  with  his  eyes  searched 
eagerly  every  nook  and  corner  in  the  room.  The 
other  was  not  there,  however,  but  just  as  Dawson 
was  about  to  turn  away  in  despair  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  reflection  of  the  crumpled  paper.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  his  senses  for  in  that  other  room 
the  blank  sheet  was  no  longer  blank.  Dawson 
sprang  back  and  picked  it  up,  smoothed  its  ruffled 
surface  and  gazed  at  it  breathlessly.  It  was  still 
blank,  however,  but  with  this  discovery  an  idea 
flashed  across  his  mind,  acting  upon  which  he  held 
the  sheet  before  the  glass  and  lo  and  behold  there 
was  before  him  the  following  letter,  evidently  ad 
dressed  by  the  shadowy  Miss  Robertson,  to  her 
shadowy  fiancee,  the  lucky  chap  who  had  so  basely 
deserted  him. 

"  MY  DEAR  WILLIAM  :  I  must  see  you  at  once. 
Very  serious  complications  are  in  store  for  us  unless 
you  can  induce  your  Mr.  Dawson  to  act  and  act 


no  A  House  Party 

quickly.  He  was  not  at  all  himself  last  night  and 
Miss  Robertson  confessed  to  me  that  she  found  him 
tiresome.  What  will  become  of  us  if  she  marries 
Horace  Webster?  Just  think  of  it  for  one  moment 
and  you  will  realise  the  extreme  embarrassment  of 
my  position  with  me  married  to  you ;  and  my  origi 
nal  married  to  Horace  Webster !  Why  William  it  is 
awful.  Come  around  right  away  and  don't  delay  an 
instant.  This  matter  must  be  taken  in  hand  now 
or  we  are  lost.  Yours  affectionately, 

"  MADGE. 

"  P.  S.  Never  mind  what  that  pokey  old  Mr. 
Dawson  thinks.  Just  come  and  let  him  get  along 
without  you." 

Dawson  read  this  communication  over  a  half 
dozen  times  before  the  full  import  dawned  upon  his 
mind,  and  then  he  was  duly  impressed  with  the 
necessity  of  action. 

"  It  proves  one  thing  anyhow,"  he  said  as  he 
stood  ruefully  regarding  the  paper.  "  Shadow 
women  aren't  a  bit  more  considerate  than  their 
solider  sisters.  She  might  at  least  have  let  him  wait 
until  I  could  dress.  I'll  have  to  go  it  alone  I  sup 
pose  and  maybe  if  I  dawdle  long  enough  he  may  be 
back  before  I  need  him." 

He  proceeded  slowly  as  was  natural,  considering 
the  difficulties,  with  his  dressing,  mumbling  to  him 
self  meanwhile  somewhat  crisp  observations  upon 
the  incidents  of  the  preceding  thirty-six  hours.  The 
train  of  thought  naturally  lit  upon  some  consider- 


Dawson's  Dilemma  1 1 1 

ation  of  Miss  Robertson  and  his  own  attitude  toward 
her. 

"  They  think  I'm  slow/'  he  said,  "  just  because  I 
haven't  rushed  things  as  they  have.  I  have  known 
her  hardly  a  year  yet,  and  these  two  airy  beings  think 
I  should  have  settled  the  matter  long  ago  and  be 
cause  I  haven't  I'm  slow;  well  I'd  rather  be  slow 
than  repent  when  I'm  slower  still.  Calls  me  pokey, 
does  she?  If  that's  what  her  Reflection,  her  illusion 
thinks,  what  kind  of  a  sluggish  thing  must  the 
original  think  me?  Still  I  will  make  an  effort  for 
their  sake."  Here  he  chuckled  softly. 

"  It  would  be  a  complication  indeed  if  Webster 
should  marry  the  one  and  my  Reflection  should 
marry  the  other.  The  only  way  out  of  that  would 
be  for  Webster  and  me  to  swap  Reflections,  and  I'll 
be  hanged  if  I'll  have  that.  If  I  had  to  have  his 
ugly  mug  confronting  me  every  time  I  looked  in  the 
mirror  I'd  go  crazy  in  a  fortnight." 

A  muffled  sound  from  the  other  side  of  the  glass 
interrupted  Dawson's  soliloquy  at  this  point  and 
walking  to  the  mirror  and  looking  in,  he  was  de 
lighted  and  at  the  same  time  depressed  by  what  he 
saw  there.  The  other  had  returned,  but  was  sitting 
in  a  chair  in  an  attitude  of  deep  dejection,  the  equal 
of  which  I  have  never  seen  anywhere  unless  perhaps 
in  the  famous  painting  by  David,  of  Napoleon  after 
the  battle  of  Waterloo. 

"  Well."  said  Dawson.    "  What's  up  ?  " 

His  Reflection  rose  silently   from   the   chair   and 


112  A  House  Party 

walking  up  to  his  side  of  the  glass  so  closely  that  his 
nose  almost  flattened  against  it,  observed : 

"  The  whole  jig,  Pm  afraid  Dawson.  Something 
has  got  to  be  done  and — you'll  excuse  the  language, 
but  I  can't  help  it, — damned  quick.  Your  pusil 
lanimity  is  ruining  my  prospects." 

"  In  what  respect?"  demanded  Dawson.  "  To 
what  prospects  do  you  refer?" 

"  Matrimonial  of  course,"  said  the  other.  "  That's 
all  an  engaged  man  thinks  of." 

"Humph!"  ejaculated  Dawson.  "I  like  that. 
Better  call  it  your  previousness.  If  you  hadn't  been 
in  such  an  infernal  hurry  to  get  engaged,  what  you 
call  my  pusillanimity  couldn't  have  interfered  with 
you  at  all.  It's  your  rank  excess  of  what  you  are 
pleased  to  call  your  independence  that  has  boxed 
you  up  if  you  happen  to  be  in  a  box.  It  won't  hurt 
you  at  all,  considering  how  fresh  you  are,  to  stay  in 
the  box  for  a  time." 

"  This  is  no  time  for  airy  persiflage,"  said  the 
other.  '  This  is  serious  business  that  confronts  us 
and  don't  you  forget  it.  Do  you  know  what's  going 
to  happen  in  just  two  hours?"  he  said  taking  his 
watch  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  No,  what?  "  said  Dawson."  "  Going  to  be  an 
earthquake?  " 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  there  was,"  said  the  other. 
"  It's  worse.  Horace  Webster  is  going  to  take  Miss 
Robertson  for  a  drive,  behind  those  two-forty  trot 
ters  of  his,  up  to  Washington  Bridge  and  back." 


Dawson's  Dilemma  1 1 3 

"  The  deuce  you  say/'  said  Dawson. 

"No,  I  said  Horace  Webster,"  said  the  other. 
"  The  same  thing,  however." 

"  Well,"  said  Dawson  philosophically,  "  Perhaps 
that  is  bad  news  for  me,  but  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  mind  it.  Didn't  you  tell  me  that 
Horace  Webster's  Reflection  wasn't  in  it  with 
you?" 

"  '  That's  all  very  well,'  said  the  other,  "  but  in 
this  case  he  is.  He's  going  along  too." 

"  I'll  let  you  off  for  the  afternoon,"  said  Dawson. 
"  Why  don't  you  go  and  spend  the  afternoon  with 
your  fiancee,  instead  of  letting  another  man  run  off 
with  her?" 

"  She  won't  permit  it,"  said  the  other.  "  She  has 
a  woman's  idea  of  loyalty  and  overweening  sense  of 
her  responsibility,  and  she  deems  it  her  duty  to  go 
along,  especially  when  a  man  like  Webster  is  in 
volved,  and  of  course  Webster's  Reflection  will  go 
along  too.  It's  all  right  for  Miss  Robertson  who's 
not  engaged  to  you  to  be  out  with  Webster,  but  it's 
all  wrong  for  her  Reflection  who  is  engaged  to  me 
to  be  out  with  his  Reflection  and  it  makes  me  kind  of 
hot  in  the  collar  to  think  of  it." 

"  I  don't  see  how  it's  going  to  happen,"  cried 
Dawson.  "  Has  Webster  got  a  plate-glass  mirror  in 
his  wagon  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Reflection,  but  the  next  thing  to 
it.  It's  one  of  these  swell  traps  with  a  patent- 
leather  dash-board,  and  you  know  what  that  means. 


H4  A  House  Party 

They'll  sit  hunched  up  together  there  all  the  after 
noon,  and  I  don't  like  it." 

"  Well,  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it/'  said 
Dawson. 

"  Oh  I'm  tired  of  giving  advice/'  said  the  other. 
"What's  the  use?  Mere  waste  of  breath.  You 
never  do  what  I  ask  you  to  and  I'm  tired  of  the 
whole  business.  I  don't  give  a  continental  what 
you  do,  but  I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do.  I'm 
going  there  to-night  and  I'm  going  to  tell  that  young 
lady  she's  either  got  to  give  up  Miss  Robertson  or 
me.  That  may  bring  her  to  her  senses.  If  she 
decides  in  Miss  Robertson's  favour,  I  shall  leave 
her,  once  and  for  all  and  simply  come  back  and  go 
through  my  duties  here  with  no  further  interest  in 
her,  or  you  or  anybody  else.  I  shall  cease  to  be 
her  lover  and  your  mentor  and  from  that  moment  on 
when  you  look  in  the  glass  you'll  see  me  there  look 
ing  back  at  you,  but  as  to  whether  your  hair  is 
brushed  or  your  tie  straight,  or  your  chin  smooth,  or 
your  brain  fuddled,  you'll  get  no  hint  from  me," 
said  his  Reflection  grinning  horribly. 

"  My !  "  cried  Dawson.  "  You  have  got  it  bad 
haven't  you,  and  suppose  she  does  not  decide  in 
favour  of  Miss  Robertson  and  says  that  she  will  be 
yours  and  will  comport  herself  according  to  your 
ideas  as  she  should.  What  then  ?  " 

"That's  simple  enough,"  said  the  Reflection. 
"  She  will  prove  it  by  going  upstairs  to  her  room, 
putting  on  her  hat  and  walking  with  me  to  the  house 


Dawson's  Dilemma  115 

of  the  nearest  clergyman  who'll  marry  us.  That's 
what." 

"  Jerusalem !  "  cried  Dawson.  "  What  a  high 
wayman  you  are.  You're  going  to  marry  her  at  the 
point  of  the  pistol  are  you,  without  even  the  formal 
ity  of  a  trousseau." 

"  Trousseau  be  hanged,"  said  the  other. 

"  You  make  a  mistake,"  said  Dawson.  "  Why, 
my  dear  boy,  to  say  nothing  of  the  economy  of  hav 
ing  the  bride's  mother  set  her  up  in  clothes  for  a 
season,  what  the  deuce  does  a  woman  marry  for  if 
not  for  the  trousseau?  It  strikes  me  that  in  most 
marriages  that  is  the  most  important  part  of  the 
ceremony.'' 

"  It  may  be  with  you,"  said  the  Reflection,  "  and  it 
may  be  with  us  for  all  I  know.  I've  never  had  any 
experience  in  getting  married,  nor  have  I  become 
such  an  expert  in  flippancy  as  to  be  able  to  compete 
with  you  in  your  present  frame  of  mind." 

"But  after  the  marriage?"  said  Dawson. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Where  are  you  going 
to  live?" 

"  Where  neither  you  nor  Miss  Robertson  will  ever 
find  us.  I've  received  scant  courtesy  from  you,  sir, 
and  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  continue  to  sacri 
fice  my  prospects  to  you  any  longer.  To  put  it 
plainly  I  think  we  shall  go  abroad  and  settle  down 
somewhere  in  England  where  people  have  lived  long 
enough  to  accept  what  they  are  pleased  to  call  ghosts 
at  their  true  valuation." 


1 1 6  A  House  Party 

"  And  I  ? "  said  Dawson  aghast  at  this 
proposition. 

"  Will  be  out  a  Reflection  unless  you  develop  a 
great  sight  more  ingenuity  than  you  have  ever  yet 
evinced  and  manage  to  secure  a  substitute.  And  I'll 
tell  you  frankly,  Dawson,  I  don't  think  you  can." 

"  Help  me  dress,"  said  Dawson  shortly.  He 
realised  that  the  time  for  action  had  arrived. 

"  I  won't  do  anything  of  the  sort,"  retorted  the 
Reflection.  "  You've  ruined  me  by  your  dilatory  tac 
tics  and  I  don't  propose  ever  again  to  serve  any  pos 
sible  interest  that  may  be  yours." 

"  Stop  your  nonsense,"  said  Dawson.  "  It  isn't 
too  late.  What  time  does  Webster  call  on  Miss 
Robertson?" 

"  Four  o'cock." 

"  Well  it's  only  two  now.  Hustle,  old  chap. 
There's  a  good  Reflection.  I  can  get  into  my  frock- 
coat  and  be  at  the  Robertson  house  by  three  if  you'll 
only  brace  up." 

"  You  will?  "  cried  the  Reflection,  the  gloom  dis 
appearing  from  his  face.  "  And  you  will  speak  to 
her?" 

"  Oh  no — of  course  not,"  Dawson  returned  drily. 
"  I'm  just  going  around  there  to  smash  a  few  pieces 
of  bric-a-brac  and  to  poison  her  mother." 

The  Reflection  looked  at  him  in  silence  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  it  smiled  and  obeyed  his  behest  Twenty 
minutes  later  Dawson  left  the  house. 


Dawson's  Dilemma  1 1 7 

When  Webster  called  that  afternoon  with  his  trot 
ters  and  his  trap  he  was  surprised  to  be  informed  that 
Miss  Robertson  begged  to  be  excused.  She  really 
had  a  most  frightful  headache — an  affliction  which  I 
think  the  disappointed  Jehu  would  have  regretted  all 
the  more,  had  he  been  able  to  see  the  improvised  pil 
low  upon  which,  in  the  comfortable  seclusion  of  the 
drawing-room,  the  suffering  head  was  resting,  for 
this  was  none  other  than  the  broad  shoulder  of  Daw- 
son  himself. 

Incidentally  Dawson's  Reflection  was  enjoying  a 
similar  blissful  experience  in  all  five  of  the  mirrors 
which  served  to  furnish  the  Robertson  parlour. 

"  Now  what  an  absurd  idea,"  cried  a  literal- 
minded  dowager. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  Shadows  can't  be  independ 
ent  of  their  creators?  "  asked  some  one. 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  I'll  prove  the  reverse.  Here  we  are  all  sitting 
absolutely  still,  yet  look  at  our  shadows  jump  about 
and  come  and  go  on  the  wall  back  there." 

"  But  that's  the  reflection  of  the  fire." 

"  Nevertheless,  they  move,  when  we  are  still." 

"  And  there  are  shadows,"  said  a  masculine  voice 
well  back  in  the  room,  speaking  low  yet  so  that  it 
caught  the  attention  more  than  a  louder  tone 
would  have  done.  "  They  are  the  real  being, 
yet  are  but  shadows,  as  dreams  sometimes  seem 
to  be  more  true,  more  intense,  than  our  waking 
moments.  Let  me  unfold  to  you  the  story 


1 1 8  A  House  Party 

of  a  friend  of  mine,  and  then  tell  me  which 
was  which — the  man  or  the  shadow,  the  dream  or 
the  reality.  I'll  call  it  A  SURRENDER !  for  that's 
what  it  was." 

"  Ugh !  "  said  a  girl.  "  I  know  it's  going  to  be 
horrible,  just  from  the  tone  of  your  voice." 

"  Not  at  all — not  at  all,"  denied  the  teller,  hastily, 
laughing  lightly.  "  It's  nothing  but — but  a  conun 
drum,  after  all,  only  it's  for  you  to  find  the  answer. 


A  SURRENDER 


THE  story  begins  one  day  when  a  friend  whom 
I'll  call  Morgan  Russell  and  I  were  loll 
ing  on  the  beach  at  Rock  Ledge  watching  the 
bathers.  We  had  played  three  sets  of  tennis,  fol 
lowed  by  a  dip  in  the  ocean,  and  were  waiting  for 
the  luncheon  hour.  Though  Russell  was  my  junior 
by  four  years,  we  were  old  friends,  and  had  pre 
arranged  our  vacation  to  renew  our  intimacy,  which 
the  force  of  circumstances  had  interrupted  since 
we  were  students  together  at  Harvard.  Russell 
had  been  a  Freshman  when  I  was  a  Senior,  but  as  we 
happened  to  room  in  the  same  entry,  this  propinquity 
had  resulted  in  warm  mutual  liking.  I  had  been 
out  of  college  for  eight  years,  had  studied  law, 
and  was  then  the  managing  clerk  of  a  large  law  firm, 
and  was  receiving  what  I  then  thought  a  tre 
mendous  salary.  Russell  was  still  at  Cambridge. 
He  had  elected  at  graduation  to  pursue  post-gradu 
ate  courses  in  chemistry  and  physics,  and  had  re 
cently  accepted  a  tutorship.  He  had  not  discovered 
until  the  beginning  of  the  Junior  year  his  strong 
predilection  for  scientific  investigation,  but  he 
had  given  himself  up  to  it  with  an  ardour 
which  dwarfed  everything  else  on  the  horizon 
of  his  fancy.  It  was  of  his  future  we  were  talk 
ing,  for  he  wished  to  take  his  old  chum  into  his 
confidence  and  to  make  plain  his  ambition.  "  I 

119 


120  A  House  Party 

recognise  of  course,"  he  told  me,  "  that  I've  an 
uphill  fight  ahead  of  me,  but  my  heart  Is  in  it.  My 
heart  wouldn't  be  in  it  if  I  felt  that  the  best  years  of 
my  life  were  to  be  eaten  up  by  mere  teaching. 
That's  the  trouble  at  Harvard, — at  all  the  colleges  in 
fact.  A  man  who's  hired  to  teach  is  expected  to 
teach  until  his  daily  supply  of  grey  matter  has  run 
out,  and  his  original  work  has  to  wait  until  after 
he's  dead.  There's  where  I'm  more  fortunate  than 
some.  The  fifteen  hundred  dollars, — a  veritable 
godsend — which  I  receive  annually  under  the  will  of 
my  aunt,  will  keep  the  wolf  at  a  respectful  distance 
and  enable  me  to  play  the  student  to  my  heart's  con 
tent.  I'm  determined  to  be  thorough,  George. 
There  is  no  excuse  for  superficiality  in  science.  But 
in  the  end  I  intend  to  find  out  something  new.  See 
if  I  don't,  old  man." 

"  I  haven't  a  doubt  you  will,  Morgan,"  I  replied. 
"  I  don't  mind  letting  on  that  I  ran  across  Professor 
Drayson  last  winter  and  he  told  me  you  were  the 
most  promising  enthusiast  he  had  seen  for  a  long 
time ;  that  you  were  patient  and  level  headed  as  well 
as  eager.  Drayson  doesn't  scatter  compliments 
lightly.  But  fifteen  hundred  dollars  isn't  a  very  im 
pressive  income." 

"  It  was  very  good  of  the  old  fellow  to  speak  so 
well  of  me." 

"  Suppose  you  marry  "  ? 

"  Marry?  "  Russell  looked  up  from  the  sea  shells 
with  which  he  had  been  playing,  and  smiled  brightly. 


A  Surrender  121 

He  had  a  thin,  slightly  delicate  face  with  an  expres 
sion  which  was  both  animated  and  amiable,  and 
keen,  strong  grey  eyes.  "  I've  thought  of  that. 
I'm  not  what  is  called  contemplating  matrimony  at 
the  moment ;  but  I've  considered  the  possibility,  and 
it  doesn't  appall  me." 

"  On  fifteen  hundred  a  year  "  ? 

"  And  why  not,  George  "  ?  he  responded  a  little 
fiercely.  "  Think  of  the  host  of  teachers,  clerks, 
small  tradesmen  and  innumerable  other  reputable 
human  beings  who  marry  and  bring  up  families  on 
that  or  less.  Which  do  you  think  I  would  prefer, 
to  amass  a  fortune  in  business  and  have  my  town 
and  country  house  and  steam  yacht,  or  to  exist  on  a 
pittance  and  discover  before  I  die  something  to  bene 
fit  the  race  of  man  "  ? 

"  Knowing  you  as  I  do,  there's  only  one  answer 
to  that  conundrum,"  said  I.  "  And  you're  right, 
too,  theoretically,  Morgan.  My  ancestors  in 
Westford  would  have  thought  fifteen  hundred 
downright  comfort,  and  in  admitting  to  you 
that  five  thousand  in  New  York  is  genteel  pov 
erty,  I  merely  reveal  what  greater  comforts  the 
ambitious  American  demands.  I  agree  with  you 
that  from  the  point  of  view  of  real  necessity  one- 
half  the  increase  is  sheer  materialism.  But  who's 
the  girl"? 

"  There  is  no  girl.  Probably  there  never  will  be. 
But  I'm  no  crank.  I  like  a  good  dinner  and  a 
seat  at  the  play,  and  an  artistic  domestic  hearth  as 


122  A  House  Party 

well  as  the  next  man.  If  I  were  to  marry,  of  course 
I  should  retain  the  tutorship  which  I  accepted  tem 
porarily  as  a  means  of  training  my  own  perceptions, 
though  I  should  try  to  preserve  as  at  present  a  con 
siderable  portion  of  my  time  free  from  the  grind  of 
teaching.  Then  much  as  I  despise  the  method  of 
rushing  into  print  prematurely  in  order  to  achieve  a 
newspaper  scientific  reputation,  I  should  expect  to 
eke  out  my  income  by  occasional  magazine  articles 
and  presently  a  book.  With  twenty-five  hundred 
or  three  thousand  a  year  we  should  manage  fa 
mously." 

"  It  would  all  depend  upon  the  woman "  said 
I  with  the  definiteness  of  an  oracle. 

"If  the  savants  in  England,  France  and  Ger 
many, — the  men  who  have  been  content  to  starve  in 
order  to  attain  immortality — could  find  wives  to 
keep  them  company,  surely  their  counterparts  are  to 
be  found  here  where  woman  is  not  the  slave  but 
the  companion  of  man  and  is  encouraged  to  think 
not  merely  about  him  but  think  with  him."  Russell 
stopped  abruptly,  then  raised  himself  on  one  elbow. 
Attracted  by  his  sudden  interest  I  lolled  lazily  in  the 
same  direction,  and  after  a  moment's  scrutiny  ejacu 
lated:  "  It  looks  just  like  her." 

As  it  was  nearing  the  luncheon  hour,  most 
of  the  bathers  had  retired.  Two  women,  one  of 
them  a  girl  of  twenty-five,  in  the  full  bloom  of 
youth  and  vigour,  with  an  open  countenance  and  a 
self  reliant,  slightly  effusive  smile,  were  on  the  way 


A  Surrender  123 

to  their  bath.  They  were  stepping  traversely  across 
the  beach  from  their  bath  house  at  one  end  in  order 
to  reach  the  place  where  the  waves  were  highest, 
and  their  course  was  taking  them  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  young  men.  For  some  reason  the  younger 
.woman  had  not  put  on  the  oil  skin  cap  designed  to 
save  her  abundant  hair  from  inundation,  but  carried 
it  dangling  from  her  fingers,  and,  just  as  Russell 
noticed  her,  she  dropped  it  on  the  beach.  After 
stooping  to  pick  it  up,  she  waited  a  moment  for  her 
friend  to  join  her  revealing  her  full  face. 

"  Yes,  it's  certainly  she,"  I  announced.  "  I 
spoke  to  her  on  the  pier  in  New  York  last  autumn, 
when  she  was  returning  from  Europe,  and  it's  either 
she  or  her  double." 

"You  know  her"? 

"  Yes,  the  widow  Spaulding." 

"  Widow?     You  mean  the  girl  "? 

There  was  just  a  trace  of  disappointment  in  the 
tone  of  Russell's  surprise. 

"  Yes  I  mean  the  girl.  But  you  needn't  dismiss 
her  altogether  from  your  fastidiously  romantic  soul 
merely  because  she  has  belonged  to  another.  There 
are  extenuating  circumstances.  She  married  the 
Rev.  Horace  Spaulding,  poor  fellow,  on  his  death 
bed,  when  he  was  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption, 
and  two  days  later  she  was  his  widow." 

"  You  seem  to  know  a  good  deal  about  her." 

"  I  ought  to,  for  she  was  born  and  bred  in  West- 
ford.  Edna  Knight  was  her  name, — the  daughter 


124  A  House  Party 

of  Justin  Knight,  the  local  attorney,  half  lawyer 
and  half  dreamer.  His  parents  were  followers  of 
Emerson,  and  there  has  been  plain  living  and  high 
thinking  in  that  family  for  three  generations.  Look 
at  her,"  I  added,  as  she  breasted  a  giant  wave  and 
jubilantly  threw  herself  into  its  embrace,  "  she  takes 
to  the  water  like  a  duck.  I  never  saw  a  girl  so  met 
amorphosed  in  three  years." 

"  What  was  she  like  before?  "  asked  Russell. 

"  Changed  physically,  I  mean,  and — and  socially, 
I  suppose  it  should  be  called.  Three  years  ago  at 
the  time  of  her  marriage  to  Spaulding  she  was  a  slip 
of  a  girl,  shy,  delicate  and  introspective.  She  and 
her  lover  were  brought  up  in  adjacent  houses,  and 
the  world  for  her  signified  the  garden  hedge  over 
which  they  whispered  in  the  gloaming,  and  later  his 
prowess  at  the  divinity  school  and  his  hope  of  a 
parish.  When  galloping  consumption  cut  him  off 
she  walked  about  shrouded  in  her  grief  as  one  dead 
to  the  world  of  men  and  women.  I  passed  her  oc 
casionally  when  I  returned  home  to  visit  my  family, 
and  she  looked  as  though  she  were  going  into  a  de 
cline.  That  wras  a  year  after  her  marriage.  Solici 
tous  sympathy  was  unavailing,  and  the  person  re 
sponsible  for  her  regaining  her  grip  on  life  was, 
curiously  enough,  a  summer  boarder  whom  old  Mrs. 
Spaulding  had  taken  into  her  family  in  order  to 
make  both  ends  meet.  Westford  has  been  saved 
from  rusting  out  by  the  advent  in  the  nick  of  time  of 
the  fashionable  summer  boarder,  and  Mrs.  Sidney 


A  Surrender  125 

Dale,  whose  husband  is  a  New  York  banker,  and 
who  spent  two  summers  there  as  a  cure  for  nervous 
prostration,  fascinated  Edna  without  meaning  to 
and  made  a  new  woman  of  her  in  the  process.  There 
is  the  story  for  you.  A  year  ago  Mrs.  Dale  took  her 
to  Europe  as  a  sort  of  finishing  touch  I  suppose.  I 
understand  Westford  thinks  her  affliction  has  de 
veloped  her  wonderfully,  and  finds  her  immensely 
improved;  which  must  mean  that  she  has  triumphed 
over  her  grief  but  has  not  forgotten,  for  Westford 
would  never  pardon  a  purely  material  evolution." 

"  I  noticed  her  at  the  hotel  this  morning  before 
you  arrived,  and  admired  the  earnestness  and  ardour 
of  her  expression." 

"  And  her  good  looks  presumably.  I  saw  you 
start  when  she  approached  just  now.  She  may  be 
just  the  woman  for  you." 

"  Introduce  me  then.    And  her  companion  "  ? 

"  Will  fall  to  my  lot,  of  course,  but  I  have  no 
clue  as  to  her  identity/' 

Mrs.  Spaulding  enlightened  me  on  the  hotel 
piazza,  after  luncheon,  when,  as  a  sequence  to  this 
persiflage  I  brought  up  my  friend.  The  stranger 
proved  to  be  Mrs.  Agnes  Gay  Spinney,  a  lit 
erary  person,  a  lecturer  on  history  and  literature. 
It  transpired  later  that  she  and  Edna  had  become 
acquainted  and  intimate  at  Westford  the  previous 
spring  during  a  few  weeks  which  Mrs.  Spinney  had 
spent  there  in  the  preparation  of  three  new  lectures 
for  the  coming  season.  She  was  a  rather  serious 


126  A  House  Party 

looking  woman  of  about  forty  with  a  straight  figure, 
good  features  and  a  pleasant,  but  infrequent  smile, 
suggesting  that  its  owner  was  not  susceptible  to  flip 
pancy.  However,  she  naively  admitted  that  she 
had  come  away  for  pure  recreation  and  to  forget 
the  responsibilities  of  life. 

Morgan  and  the  widow  were  conversing  with 
so  much  animation  that  I,  to  whom  this  re 
mark  was  addressed,  took  upon  myself  to  give 
youth  a  free  field;  consequently  I  resigned  myself 
to  Mrs.  Spinney's  dignified  point  of  view,  -  and, 
avoiding  badinage  or  irony,  evinced  such  an  amiable 
interest  in  drawing  her  out  that  1-y  the  end  of  fifteen 
minutes  she  asked  leave  to  show  me  the  catalogue 
of  her  lectures,  a  proof  of  which  she  had  just  re 
ceived  from  the  printer.  When  she  had  gone  to 
fetch  it,  I  promptly  inquired : 

"  Why  don't  you  two  young  people  improve  this 
fine  afternoon  by  a  round  of  golf  "  ? 

A  gleam  of  animation  over  Morgan's  face  be 
trayed  that  he  regarded  the  suggestion  as  eminently 
happy.  But  it  was  Edna  who  spoke  first. 

"  If  Mr.  Russell  will  put  up  with  my  poor  game, 
I  should  enjoy  playing  immensely.  But "  she  ad 
ded  smiling  confidently  and  regarding  him  with 
her  large  steady  brown  eyes  "  I  don't  intend  to  re 
main  a  duffer  at  it  long.  I  see "  she  continued 
after  a  moment  "  from  your  expression,  Mr.  Randall, 
that  you  doubt  this.  Confess;  it  was  the  corners 
of  your  mouth." 


A  Surrender  127 

"I  must  grow  a  moustache  to  conceal  my  thoughts, 
it  seems.  I  was  only  thinking,  Mrs.  Spaulding, 
that  golf  is  a  difficult  game  at  which  to  excel" 

"  Yes,  but  they  say  that  care  and  determination 
and — and  keeping  the  eye  on  the  ball  will  work 
wonders  even  for  a  woman.  I  shall  be  only  a  mo 
ment  in  getting  ready,  Mr.  Russell." 

"  But  what  is  to  become  of  you,  George  "  ?  asked 
Morgan  as  she  disappeared. 

"  I  noticed  that  a  sensitive  conscience  kept  you 
tongue-tied.  This  is  probably  one  of  the  most  self- 
sacrificing  acts  which  will  be  performed  the  present 
summer.  But  you  will  remember  that  Mephisto- 
pheles  on  a  certain  occasion  was  equally  good-na 
tured." 

"  Don't  be  absurd.     Is  she  very  trying  "  ? 

"Martha  had  some  humour  and  no  understanding, 
Mrs.  Spinney  has  some  understanding  and  no 
humour.  Here  she  comes  with  her  catalogue  of 
lectures.  There  are  over  fifty  of  them,  and  from 
their  scope  she  must  be  almost  omniscient.  How 
are  you  getting  on  with  the  widow  "  ? 

"  Mrs.  Spaulding  seems  to  me  an  interesting 
woman.  She  has  opinions  of  her  own,  which  she 
expresses  clearly  and  firmly.  I  like  her,"  responded 
Morgan  with  a  definiteness  of  manner  which  sug 
gested  that  he  was  not  to  be  debarred  by  fear  of 
banter  from  admitting  that  he  was  attracted. 

As  they  strode  over  the  links  that  afternoon  he 
was  impressed  continuously  by  her  fine  physical 


128  A  House  Party 

bearing.  There  was  a  freedom  and  an  ease  in  her 
movements,  essentially  womanly  and  graceful,  yet 
independent  and  self-reliant,  which  stirred  his  pulses. 
He  had  been  a  close  and  absorbed  student,  and  his 
observation  of  the  other  sex  had  been  largely  indif 
ferent  and  formal.  He  knew  of  course  that  the 
modern  woman  had  sloughed  off  helplessness  and 
docile  dependence  on  man,  but  like  an  ostrich  with 
its  head  in  the  sand  he  had  chosen  to  form  a  men 
tal  conception  of  what  she  was  like,  and  he  had 
pictured  her  either  as  a  hoyden  or  an  unsympathetic 
blue-stocking.  This  trig,  well-developed  beauty, 
with  her  sensible,  alert  face  and  capable  manner 
was  an  agreeable  revelation.  If  she  was  a  type,  he 
had  neglected  his  opportunities.  But  the  present 
was  his  at  all  events.  Here  was  companionship 
worthy  of  the  name,  and  a  stimulating  vindication 
of  the  success  of  woman's  revolt  from  her  own 
weakness  and  subserviency.  When  at  the  conclu 
sion  of  their  game  they  sat  down  on  a  bank  over 
looking  the  last  hole  and  connected  conversation 
took  the  place  of  desultory  dialogue  between  shots, 
he  was  struck  by  her  common  sense,  her  enthusi 
asm  and  her  friendliness.  He  gathered  that  she 
was  eager  to  support  herself  by  some  form  of  intel 
lectual  occupation,  preferably  teaching  or  writing, 
and  that  she  had  come  to  Rock  Ledge  with  Mrs. 
Spinney  in  order  to  talk  over  quietly  whether  she 
would  better  take  courses  of  study  at  Radcliffe  or 
Wellesley,  or  learn  the  Kindergarten  methods  and 


A  Surrender  129 

at  the  same  time  apply  herself  diligently  to  reading 
and  try  putting  her  thoughts  on  paper.  Of  one 
thing  she  was  certain,  that  she  did  not  wish  to  rust 
out  in  Westford.  While  her  father  lived,  of  course 
her  nominal  home  would  be  there,  but  she  felt  that 
she  could  not  be  happy  with  nothing  but  household 
employment  in  a  small  town  out  of  touch  with  the 
movement  and  breadth  of  modern  life. 

It  is  easy  and  natural  for  two  young  people  vege 
tating  at  a  summer  resort  to  become  exceedingly 
intimate  in  three  or  four  days,  especially  when  facil 
ity  for  intercourse  is  promoted  and  freedom  from 
interruption  guaranteed  by  a  self-sacrificing  access 
ory.  My  complicity  at  the  outset  had  been 
pure  off-hand  pleasantry,  but  by  the  end  of 
thirty-six  hours  it  was  obvious  to  me  that  Mor 
gan's  interest  was  that  of  a  man  deeply  infatuated. 
Seeing  that  the  two  young  people  were  of  mar 
riageable  age  and  free,  so  far  as  I  knew,  from 
disqualifying  blemishes  which  would  justify  me 
in  putting  either  on  guard  against  the  other,  I 
concluded  that  it  behooved  me  as  a  loyal  friend 
to  keep  Mrs.  Spinney  occupied  and  out  of  the  way. 
Consequently  Morgan  and  Mrs.  Spaulding  were 
constantly  together  during  the  ensuing  ten  days, 
and,  so  skilfully  did  I  do  this  that  the  innocent  pair 
regarded  the  flirtation  which  I  was  carrying  on  as 
a  superb  joke, — a  case  of  a  banterer  caught  in  the 
toils,  and  Mrs.  Spinney's  manners  suggested  that 
she  was  agreeably  flattered. 


130  A  House  Party 

Morgan's  statement  that  he  had  never  contem 
plated  marriage  was  true,  and  yet  in  the  background 
of  his  dream  of  the  future  lurked  a  female  vision 
whose  sympathy  and  companionship  was  to  be  the 
spur  of  his  ambition  and  the  mainstay  of  his  cour 
age.  Had  he  found  her?  He  did  not  need  to  ask 
himself  the  question  more  than  once.  He  knew 
that  he  had,  and,  knowing  that  he  was  deeply  in 
love,  he  turned  to  face  the  two  questions  by  which 
he  was  confronted.  First,  would  she  have  him? 
Second,  in  case  she  would,  was  he  in  a  position 
to  ask  her  to  marry  him,  or,  more  concretely,  could 
he  support  her?  The  first  could  be  solved  only  by 
direct  inquiry  of  herself.  The  answer  to  the  second 
depended  on  whether  the  views  which  he  had  ex 
pressed  to  me  as  to  the  possibilities  of  matri 
monial  content  in  circumstances  like  his  were  cor 
rect.  Or  was  I  right,  and  did  it  all  depend 
upon  the  woman?  But  what  if  it  did?  Was  not 
this  just  the  woman  to  sympathise  entirely  with  his 
ambition  and  to  keep  him  up  to  the  mark  in  case 
the  shoe  pinched?  There  was  no  doubt  of  her  en 
thusiasm  and  interest  when  in  the  course  of  one  of 
their  walks  he  had  confided  to  her  that  he  had 
dedicated  his  life  to  close  scientific  investigation. 
Well,  he  would  lay  the  situation  squarely  before  her 
and  she  could  give  him  his  answer.  If  she  was  the 
kind  of  woman  he  believed  her  to  be  and  she  loved 
him  and  had  faith  in  him,  wrould  the  prospect  of 


A  Surrender  131 

limited  means  appall  her  ?  He  felt  sure  that  it  would 
not. 

Before  the  end  of  the  fortnight  he  made  a  clean 
breast  of  his  love  and  of  his  scruples.  He  chose  an 
occasion  when  they  had  strolled  far  along  the  shore 
and  were  resting  among  picturesque  rocks  over 
looking  the  ocean.  She  listened  shyly,  as  became  a 
woman,  but  once  or  twice  while  he  was  speaking  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  unmistakable  ardour  and  joy 
in  her  brown  eyes  which  let  him  know  that  his  feel 
ings  were  reciprocated  before  she  confessed  it  by 
speech.  He  was  so  determined  to  make  clear  to 
her  what  was  in  store  for  her  if  she  accepted  him 
that  without  waiting  for  an  answer  to  his  burning 
avowal  he  proceeded  to  point  out  and  to  reiterate 
that  the  scantiest  kind  of  living  so  far  as  creature 
comforts  were  concerned  was  all  which  he  could 
promise  either  for  the  present  or  for  the  future. 

When,  having  satisfied  his  conscience,  he  ceased 
speaking,  Edna  turned  toward  him  and  with  a  sigh 
of  sentiment  swept  back  the  low  bands  of  profuse 
dark  hair  from  her  temples  as  though  by  the  gest 
ure  she  were  casting  all  anxieties  and  hindrances 
to  the  winds.  "  How  strange  it  is  "  !  she  murmured. 
"  The  last  thing  which  I  supposed  could  happen  to 
me  in  coming  here  was  that  I  should  marry.  But 
I  am  in  love, — in  love  with  you;  and  to  turn  one's 
back  on  that  blessing  would  be  to  squander  the 
happiness  of  existence."  She  was  silent  a  moment. 


1 32  A  House  Party 

Then  she  continued  gravely,  "  As  you  know,  I  was 
engaged — married  once  before.  How  long  ago  it 
seems !  I  thought  once,  I  believed  once,  that  I  could 
never  love  again.  Dear  Horace,  how  wrapped  up  we 
were  in  each  other!  But  I  was  a  child  then,  and — 
and  it  seems  as  though  all  I  know  of  the  real  world 
has  been  learned  since.  I  must  not  distrust, — I  will 
not  refuse  the  opportunity  to  make  you  happy  and  to 
become  happier  myself  by  resisting  the  impulse  of 
my  heart.  I  love  you — Morgan." 

"  Thank  God !  But  are  you  sure,  Edna,  that  you 
have  counted  the  cost  of  marrying  me  "  ? 

"  Oh  yes.  We  shall  manage  very  well  I  think/' 
she  answered,  speaking  slowly  and  contracting  a 
little  her  broad  brow  in  the  attempt  to  argue  dis 
passionately.  "  It  isn't  as  if  you  had  nothing.  You 
have  fifteen  hundred  dollars  and  your  salary,  nearly 
two  thousand  more.  Five  years  ago  that  would  have 
seemed  to  me  wealth,  and  now,  of  course,  I  under 
stand  that  it  isn't;  and  five  years  ago  I  suppose  I 
would  have  married  a  man  if  I  loved  him  no 
matter  how  poor  he  was.  But  to-day  I  am  wiser, — 
that's  the  word,  isn't  it?  For  I  recognize  that  I 
might  not  be  happy  as  a  mere  drudge,  and  to  become 
one  would  conflict  with  what  I  feel  that  I  owe 
myself  in  the  way  of — shall  I  call  it  civilising  and 
self-respecting  comfort?  So  you  see  if  you  hadn't  a 
cent,  I  might  feel  it  was  more  sensible  and  better 
for  us  both  to  wait  or  to  give  each  other  up.  But 
it  isn't  a  case  of  that  at  all.  We've  plenty  to  start 


A  Surrender  133 

on, — plenty,  and  more  than  I'm  accustomed  to;  and 
by  the  time  we  need  more,  if  we  do  need  more,  you 
will  be  famous." 

"  But  it's  just  that,  Edna,"  he  interjected  quickly. 
"  I  may  never  be  famous.  I  may  be  obscure,  and 
we  may  be  poor,  relatively  speaking,  all  our  lives," 
and  he  sighed  dismally. 

"  Oh  yes  you  will,  and  Oh  no  we  sha'n't,"  she 
exclaimed  buoyantly.  "  Surely,  you  don't  expect 
me  to  believe  that  you  are  not  going  to  succeed  and 
to  make  a  name  for  yourself?  We  must  take  some 
chances, — if  that  is  a  chance.  You  have  told  me 
yourself  that  you  intended  to  succeed." 

"  In  the  end,  yes." 

"  Why  then  shouldn't  I  believe  it,  too  ?  It  would 
be  monstrous, — disloyal  and  unromantic  not  to.  I 
won't  listen  to  a  word  more  on  that  score,  please. 
And  the  rest  follows,  doesn't  it  ?  We  are  marrying 
because  we  love  each  other  and  believe  we  can  help 
each  other,  and  I  am  sure  one  of  the  reasons  why 
we  love  each  other  is  that  we  both  have  enthusiasm 
and  find  life  intensely  absorbing  and  admire  that  in 
the  other.  There's  the  great  difference  between 
me  now  and  what  I  was  at  eighteen.  The  mere  zest 
of  existence  seems  to  me  so  much  greater  than  it 
used.  There  are  so  many  interesting  things  to  do,  so 
many  interesting  things  which  we  would  like  to  do. 
And  now  we  shall  be  able  to  do  them  together, 
shan't  we  "  ?  she  concluded,  her  eyes  lighted  with 
confident  happiness,  her  cheeks  mantling  partly  from 


134  A-  House  Party 

love,  partly,  perhaps,  from  a  sudden  consciousness 
that  she  was  almost  playing  the. wooer. 

Morgan  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  "  Until  death 
do  us  part,  Edna.  This  is  the  joy  of  which  I  have 
dreamed  for  years  and  wondered  if  it  could  ever  be 
mine,"  he  whispered,  as  he  looked  into  her  face  with 
all  the  ardour  of  his  soul  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

That  evening  he  hooked  his  arm  in  mine  on 
the  piazza  after  dinner  and  said,  "  You  builded  bet 
ter  than  you  knew,  George.  We  are  engaged,  and 
she's  the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  me.  I've  told 
her  everything, — everything,  and  she  isn't  afraid." 

"  And  you  give  me  the  credit  of  it.  That's  Chris 
tian  and  handsome.  I'll  say  one  thing  for  her 
which  anyone  can  see  from  her  face,  that  she  has 
good  looks  and  intelligence.  As  to  the  rest,  you 
monopolised  her  so  that  our  acquaintance  is  yet 
to  begin/' 

"  It  shall  begin  at  once,"  said  Morgan,  with  a 
happy  laugh.  "  But  what  about  you,  George  "  ? 

"  I  leave  for  New  York  to-night.  Now  that  the 
young  lovers  have  plighted  their  troth  my  presence 
is  no  longer  necessary.  A  sudden  telegram  will 
arrive." 

"  But  Mrs.  Spinney  ?  We  had  begun  to — er — 
hope  "— 

"Hope"? 

"  Begun  to  think — wondered  if  " — 

"  I  were  going  to  marry  a  woman  several  years 
my  senior  who  has  the  effrontery  to  believe  that  she 


A  Surrender  135 

can  lecture  acceptably  on  the  entire  range  of  literary 
and  social  knowledge  from  the  Troubadours  and  the 
Crusades  to  Rudyard  Kipling  and  the  Referendum? 
Such  is  the  reward  of  disinterested  self-sacrifice"! 

"  Forgive  me,  George.  I  knew  at  first  that  you 
were  trying  to  do  me  a  good  turn,  but — but  you 
were  so  persistent  that  you  deceived  us.  I'm  really 
glad  there's  nothing  in  it." 

"  Thanks  awfully."  Then  bending  a  sardonic 
glance  on  my  friend,  I  murmured  sententiously. 

"Love  looks  not  with  the  eyes,  but  with  the  mind, 
And  therefore  is  Winged  Cupid  painted  blind." 


"  Edna,  why  don't  you  take  a  more  active 
interest  in  these  club  gatherings  "  ?  asked  Morgan 
Russell  one  afternoon  after  they  had  been  mar 
ried  eight  years.  He  had  laid  aside  his  work  for 
the  day,  and  having  joined  his  wife  on  the 
piazza  was  glancing  over  a  printed  notice  of  a  meet 
ing  which  she  had  left  on  the  table.  "  I'm  inclined 
to  think  you  would  get  considerable  diversion  from 
them,  and  the  study  work  at  home  would  be  in 
your  line." 

Edna  was  silent  a  moment.  She  bent  her  head 
over  her  work — a  child's  blouse — that  he  might  not 
notice  that  she  was  biting  her  lip,  and  she  managed 
to  impart  a  dispassionate  and  almost  jaunty  tone  to 
the  indictment  which  she  uttered. 


136  A  House  Party 

"  Every  now  and  then,  Morgan,  you  remind  me 
of  Edward  Casaubon  in  Middlemarch.  Not  often, 
but  every  now  and  then  lately." 

"  That  selfish,  fusty,  undiscerning  book-worm  "  ? 

"You're  not  selfish  and  you're  not  fusty;  but 
you  remind  me  of  him  when  you  make  remarks  like 
your  first."  She  brushed  a  caterpillar  from  her 
light  summer  skirt,  and  noticing  the  draggled  edge 
held  it  up.  "  There's  one  answer  to  your  question 
about  taking  an  active  interest  in  clubs.  There  are 
twenty  others,  but  this  is  one/' 

Her  husband  appeared  puzzled.  He  looked  well, 
but  pale  and  thin,  as  though  accustomed  to  close 
application. 

"  I  mean  I  can't  afford  it,"  she  added. 

"  I  see.  Then  it  was  stupid  of  me, — Casaubonish 
1  dare  say,  to  have  spoken.  I  was  only  trying  to 
put  a  little  more  variety  into  your  life  because  I 
realised  that  you  ought  to  have  it." 

Edna  gave  a  faint  sigh  by  way  of  acquiescence. 
Marriage  had  changed  her  but  little  in  appearance. 
She  looked  scarcely  older,  and  her  steady  eyes,  broad 
brow  and  ready  smile  gave  the  same  effect  of  deter 
mination  and  spirit,  though  she  seemed  more  sober. 

"  I'm  a  little  dull  myself  and  that  makes  me  cap 
tious,"  she  asserted.  Then  dropping  her  work  and 
clasping  her  hands  she  looked  up  earnestly  at  him 
and  said,  "  Don't  you  see  the  impossibility  of  my 
being  active  in  my  club,  Morgan?  I  go  to  it,  of 
course,  occasionally,  so  as  not  to  drop  out  of  things 


A  Surrender  137 

altogether,  but  in  order  to  take  a  prominent  part  and 
get  the  real  benefit  of  the  meetings  a  woman  needs 
time  and  money.  Not  so  very  much  money,  nor 
so  very  much  time,  but  more  of  either  than  I  have 
at  my  disposal.  Of  course,  I  should  like,  if  we 
had  more  income — and  what  is  much  more  essen 
tial — more  time,  to  accept  some  of  the  invitations 
which  I  receive  to  express  my  ideas  before  the 
Club,  but  it  is  out  of  the  question.  I  have  a  horror 
of  superficialty  just  as  you  have." 

"  A  sad  fate;  a  poor  man's  wife,"  said  Morgan 
with  a  smile  which,  though  tranquil,  was  wan. 

"  And  you  warned  me.  Don't  think  for  a  mo 
ment  I'm  complaining  or  regretting.  I  was  only 
answering  your  question.  Do  you  realise,  dear,  we 
shall  have  been  married  eight  years  day  after  to 
morrow  ''  ? 

"  So  we  have,  Edna.  And  what  a  blessing  our 
marriage  has  been  to  me." 

"  We  have  been  very  happy."  Then,  she  said, 
after  a  pause,  as  though  she  had  been  making  up  her 
mind  to  put  the  question,  "  You  are  really  content, 
Morgan  "  ? 

"  Content  "?  he  echoed,  "  with  you,  Edna  "? 

"  Not  with  me  as  me,  but  with  us  both  together; 
with  our  progress,  and  with  what  we  stand  for  as 
human  beings  "  ? 

"  I  think  so.  That  is  relatively  speaking,  and 
provided  I  understand  correctly  what  you  mean." 

She  had  not  resumed  her  work,  and  her  eager, 


138  A  House  Party 

resolute  expression  indicated  that  she  was  preparing 
to  push  the  conversation  to  a  more  crucial  point. 

"  I  suppose  what  I  mean  is,  would  you,  if  we 
were  going  to  start  over  again,  do  just  as  you 
have, — devote  yourself  to  science  "  ? 

"  Oh."  Morgan  flushed.  "  I  don't  see  the  use 
of  considering  that  conundrum.  I  have  devoted 
myself  to  science  and  there  is  no  help  for  it,  even 
if  I  were  dissatisfied." 

"  No  present  help." 

"  No  help  at  any  time,  Edna.  But  why  resurrect 
this  ghost?  We  burned  our  bridges  at  the  altar." 

"  We  did.  And  don't  misunderstand  me,  dear. 
I'm  not  flinching,  I'm  not  even  regretting,  as  I 
said  to  you  before.  Perhaps  it  may  seem  to  you 
brutal, — which  is  worse  than  Casaubonish — to  ask 
you  such  a  question.  Still  we're  husband  and  wife, 
and  on  an  anniversary  like  this  why  isn't  it  sensible 
to  look  matters  squarely  in  the  face,  and  consider 
whether  we've  been  wise  or  not.  You  ask  the  use. 
Are  we  not  both  seeking  the  truth  "  ? 

"  Just  as  a  tradesman  takes  an  account  of  stock 
to  ascertain  whether  he  is  bankrupt.  I  suppose 
you  are  thinking  of  the  children  and — and  you  ad 
mitted  that  you  are  a  little  tired  yourself." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  any  one.  I  was  simply 
considering  the  question  as  an  abstract  proposition, 
—by  the  light,  of  course,  of  our  experience." 

"  It  is  hard  for  you,  Edna;  yes,  it  is  hard.  I 
often  think  of  it." 


A  Surrender  I  39 

"  But  I  shouldn't  mind  its  being  hard  if  I  were 
sure  we  were  wise, — justified." 

Morgan  leaned  toward  her  and  said  with  grave 
intensity,  ''How, dear,  are  the  great  truths  of  sci 
ence  to  be  ascertained  unless  men — men  and  their 
wives — are  willing  to  delve  lovingly,  to  sacrifice 
comforts  and  ever  endure  hardships  in  pursuit  of 
them"? 

Edna  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  But  you  must  an 
swer  me  a  question.  How  are  children  to  be  edu 
cated,  and  their  minds,  bodies  and  manners  guarded 
and  formed  in  the  ideal  way  on  a  small  income 
such  as  ours  "  ? 

"  I  thought  it  was  the  children.'' 

"  It  isn't  merely  the  children.  It's  myself  and 
you, — you  Morgan.  It  breaks  my  heart  to  see  you 
pale,  thin  and  tired  most  of  the  time.  You  like  good 
food  and  we  can't  afford  to  keep  a  decent  cook. 
You  have  to  consider  every  cent  you  spend,  and  the 
consequence  is  you  have  no  amusement,  and  if  you 
take  a  vacation,  it  is  at  some  cheap  place  where  you 
are  thoroughly  uncomfortable.  And,  of  course, 
it  is  the  children,  too.  If  you  with  your  talents,  had 
gone  into  business  or  followed  medicine  or  the  law, 
like  your  friend  Mr.  Randall,  we  should  have  an 
income  by  this  time  which, — well  for  one  thing  we 
should  be  able  to  keep  the  children  at  the  seaside 
until  October,  and  for  another  have  Ernest's  teeth 
strafghtened." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  manage  both  of  those,  as  it  is. 


140  A  House  Party 

But,  Edna,  what's  the  advantage  of  considering 
what  might  have  been?  Besides,  you  haven't  an 
swered  my  question." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said  slowly.  "  You  mustn't  mis- 
understand  me,  Morgan.  I'm  very  proud  of  you, 
and  I  appreciate  fully  your  talent,  your  self-sacri 
fice  and  your  modesty.  I  thought  you  entirely 
right  the  other  day  in  repulsing  that  odious  reporter 
who  wished  to  make  a  public  character  of  you  be 
fore  you  were  ready.  I'm  content  to  wait — to  wait 
forever,  and  I  shall  be  happy  in  waiting.  But  on 
the  other  hand  I've  never  been  afraid  to  face  the 
truth.  It's  my  way.  I've  done  so  all  my  life;  and 
my  growth  mentally  and  morally  has  come  through 
my  willingness  to  acknowledge  my  mistakes.  Every 
one  says  it  is  fine  for  other  people  to  starve  for  the 
sake  of  discovery,  but  how  few  are  willing  to  do  it 
themselves.  If  we  were  in  a  book,  the  world  would 
admire  us,  but  sometimes  I  can't  help  wondering  if 
we  would  not  be  happier,  and  more  satisfactory 
human  products  if  you  had  done  something  which 
brought  you  rewards  more  commensurate  with  your 
abilities.  I'm  merely  thinking  aloud,  Morgan.  I'm 
intensely  interested,  as  you  know,  in  the  problems 
of  life,  and  this  is  one  of  them." 

"  But  you  know  foreigners  claim  that  we  as  a 
nation  are  not  really  interested  in  culture  and 
knowledge,  but  only  in  their  money  value.  What 
becomes  of  the  best  scholarship  if  we  are  ready  to 
admit  it"? 


A  Surrender  141 

"  Ah,  but  Professor  Drayson  told  me  only  the 
other  day,  that  abroad,  in  Germany,  for  instance, 
they  give  their  learned  professors  and  savants  suit 
able  salaries  and  make  much  of  them  socially  be 
cause  it  is  recognised  that  otherwise  they  wouldn't 
be  willing  to  consecrate  themselves  to  their  work 
out  of  proper  self-respect." 

"  Then  the  essential  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to 
invent  some  apparatus  which  I  can  sell  to  a  syndi 
cate  for  half  a  million  dollars." 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,  Morgan/'  she  an 
swered,  smiling  brightly.  "  But  you  know  perfectly 
well  that  if  we  go  on  just  as  we  are  to  the  end, 
I  shall  be  thoroughly  proud  of  you,  and  thoroughly 
happy — relatively  speaking."  So  saying  she  put 
her  arm  around  her  husband's  neck  and  kissed  him 
affectionately. 

Although  this  conversation  was  more  definite  than 
any  which  had  taken  place  between  them,  Morgan 
was  not  seriously  distressed.  He  knew  that  it  was 
his  wife's  method  to  think  aloud,  and  he  knew  that 
she  would  be  just  as  loyal  to  him  and  no  less  cheerful 
because  of  it.  She  was  considering  a  problem  in 
living,  and  one  which  indisputably  had  two  sides. 
He  had  always  been  aware  of  it,  and  the  passage 
of  time  without  special  achievement  on  his  part 
had  brought  it  more  judicially  before  him  now  that 
there  were  two  children  and  the  prospect  of  a  third. 
He  was  absorbed  in  his  vocation;  and  the  lack  of 
certain  comforts — necessities  perhaps — though  in- 


142  A  House  Party 

convenient,  would  not  have  weighed  appreciably  in 
the  scale  were  he  the  only  one  affected.  But  though 
he  was  pursuing  his  course  along  the  path  of  inves 
tigation  eagerly  and  doing  good  work  without  a 
shadow  of  disappointment,  he  was  aware  not  merely 
that  he  had  not  as  yet  made  a  concrete  valuable 
discovery,  but  might  never  do  so.  This  possibility 
did  not  appall  him,  but  he  recognised  that  it  was  a 
part  of  the  circumstances  of  his  particular  case 
viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  a  contemplative 
judgment  on  his  behaviour.  He  was  succeeding, 
but  was  his  success  of  a  character  to  justify  de 
priving  his  wife  and  children  of  what  might  have 
been  theirs  but  for  his  selection?  The  discussion 
was  purely  academic,  for  he  had  made  his  choice, 
but  he  did  not  question  Edna's  privilege  to  weigh 
the  abstract  proposition,  and  accordingly  was  not 
depressed  by  her  frankness. 

It  happened  a  few  weeks  later  that  Edna  received 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  Sidney  Dale  inviting  her  and 
Morgan  to  spend  a  fortnight  at  the  Dale  spring 
and  autumn  home  on  the  Hudson.  Edna  had  seen 
Mrs.  Dale  but  twice  since  their  trip  abroad.  She 
had  been  unable  to  accept  a  previous  similar  invi 
tation,  but  on  this  occasion  Morgan  insisted  that  she 
must  go.  He  argued  that  it  would  refresh  and  rest 
her,  and  he  agreed  to  conduct  her  to  Cliff  side  and 
remain  for  a  day  or  two  himself. 

Cliffside  proved  to  be  a  picturesque,  spacious 
house  artistically  situated  at  the  vantage  point  of 


A  Surrender  143 

a  domain  of  twenty  acres  and  furnished  with  the 
soothing  elegancies  of  modern  ingenuity  and  taste. 
There  were  appurtenant  a  terrace  garden,  a  well 
accoutred  stable,  a  tennis  court  and  a  steam  yacht. 
Mrs.  Dale,  who  had  prefaced  her  invitation  by  in 
forming  her  husband  that  she  never  understood  ex 
actly  why  she  was  so  fond  of  Edna  and  feared  that 
the  Russells  were  very  poor,  sat,  a  vision  of  suc 
cessive  cool,  light  summer  garments,  doing  fancy 
work  on  the  piazza  and  talking  in  her  engaging, 
brightly  indolent  manner.  Morgan  found  Mr.  Dale, 
who  was  taking  a  vacation,  within  telephonic  reach 
of  New  York,  a  genial,  well  informed  man  with  the 
effect  of  mental  strength  and  reserve  power.  They 
became  friendly  over  their  cigars,  and  a  common 
liking  for  old-fashioned  garden  horticulture.  On 
the  evening  before  he  departed,  Morgan,  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  expressed  an  opinion  con 
cerning  certain  electrical  appliances  before  the  public 
in  the  securities  of  which  his  host  was  interested. 
The  banker  listened  with  keen  attention,  put  sundry 
questions  which  revealed  his  own  acuteness,  and  in 
pursuance  of  the  topic  gave  Morgan  a  graphic  ac 
count  until  after  midnight  of  the  large  enterprises 
involving  new  mechanical  discoveries  in  which  his 
firm  was  engaged. 

Morgan  was  obliged  to  go  home  on  the  following 
morning,  but  Edna  remained  a  full  fortnight.  On 
the  day  of  her  return  Morgan  was  pleased  to  per 
ceive  that  the  trip  had  evidently  done  her  good. 


144  A  House  Party 

Not  only  did  she  look  brighter  and  fresher,  but 
there  was  a  sparkling  gaiety  in  her  manner  which 
suggested  that  the  change  had  served  as  a  tonic. 
Morgan  did  not  suspect  that  this  access  of  spirits 
was  occasioned  by  the  secret  she  was  cherishing 
until  she  confronted  him  with  it  in  the  evening. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  would  never  guess 
what  has  happened,  so  I  won't  ask  you  to  try.  I 
wonder  what  you  will  think  of  it.  Mr.  Dale  is 
going  to  ask  you, — has  asked  you  to  go  into  his 
business, — to  become  one  of  his  partners." 

"Asked  me"? 

"  Yes.  It  seems  you  made  a  good  impression  on 
him  from  the  first, — especially  the  last  evening  when 
you  sat  up  together.  It  came  about  through  Mrs. 
Dale,  I  think.  That  is,  Mr.  Dale  has  been  looking 
about  for  some  time  for  what  he  calls  the  right  sort 
of  man  to  take  in,  for  one  of  his  partners  has  died 
recently  and  the  business  is  growing;  and  Mrs. 
Dale  seems  to  have  had  us  on  her  mind  because  she 
had  got  it  into  her  head  that  we  were  dreadfully 
poor.  I  don't  think  she  has  at  all  a  definite  idea  of 
what  your  occupation  is.  But  the  long  and  short  of 
it  is  her  husband  wants  you.  He  told  me  so  himself 
in  black  and  white,  and  you  will  receive  a  letter 
from  him  within  a  day  or  two." 

"  Wants  me  to  become  a  broker ''  ? 

"  A  banker  and  broker." 

"  And — er — give  up  my  regular  work  "  ? 

Edna  nervously  smoothed  out  the  lap  of  her  dress 


A  Surrender  145 

as  though  she  realised  that  she  might  be  inflicting 
pain,  but  she  raised  her  steady  eyes  and  said  with 
pleasant  firmness — 

"  You  would  have  to,  of  course,  won't  you?  But 
Mr.  Dale  explained  that  you  would  be  expected  to 
keep  a  special  eye  on  the  mechanical  and  scientific 
interests  of  the  firm.  He  said  he  had  told  you  about 
them.  So  all  that  would  be  in  your  line  of  work, 
wouldn't  it?" 

"  I  understand, — I  understand.  It  would  amount 
to  nothing  from  the  point  of  view  of  my  special  field 
of  investigation,"  he  answered  a  little  sternly. 
"  What  reply  did  you  make  to  him,  Edna  "  ? 

"  I  merely  said  that  I  would  tell  you  of  the  offer; 
that  I  didn't  know  what  you  would  think." 

"  I  wish  you  had  refused  it  then  and  there." 

"  I  couldn't  do  that,  of  course.  The  decision  did 
not  rest  with  me.  Besides,  Morgan,  I  thought  you 
might  think  that  we  could  not — er — afford  to  refuse 
it,  and  that  as  you  would  still  be  more  or  less  con 
nected  with  scientific  matters,  you  might  regard  it 
as  a  happy  compromise.  Mr.  Dale  said,"  she  contin 
ued  with  incisive  clearness  in  which  there  was  a 
tinge  of  jubilation,  "  that  on  a  conservative  esti 
mate  you  could  count  on  ten  or  twelve  thousand 
dollars  a  year,  and  his  manner  suggested  that  your 
share  of  the  profits  would  be  very  much  more  than 
that." 

"The  scientific  part  is  a  mere  sop;  it  amounts 
to  nothing.  I  should  be  a  banker,  engaged  in  float- 


146  A  House  Party 

ing  new  financial  enterprises  and  selling  their  secur 
ities  to  the  public." 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Edna  rose  and  seating 
herself  on  the  sofa  beside  him  took  his  hands  and 
said  with  solemn  emphasis,  "  Morgan,  if  you  think 
you  will  be  unhappy, — if  you  are  satisfied  that  this 
change  would  not  be  the  best  thing  for  us,  say  so 
and  let  us  give  it  up.  Give  it  up  and  we  will  never 
think  of  it  again." 

He  looked  her  squarely  in  the  face.  "  My  God ! 
Edna,  I  don't  know  what  to  answer.  It's  a  temp 
tation.  So  many  things  would  be  made  easy.  It 
comes  to  this,  is  a  man  justified  in  refusing  such  an 
opportunity  and  sacrificing  his  wife  and  children  in 
order  to  be  true  to  his "  ? 

She  interrupted  him.  "  If  you  put  it  that  way, 
Morgan,  we  must  decline.  If  you  are  going  to 
break  your  heart  " — 

"  Or  yours  " — 

"  Morgan,  whichever  way  you  decide  I  shall  be 
happy,  provided  only  you  are  sure.  If  you  feel  that 
you — we — all  of  us  will  be  happier  and  er — more 
effective  human  creatures  going  on  as  we  are,  it  is 
your  duty  to  refuse  Mr.  Dale's  offer." 

"  It's  a  temptation,"  murmured  Morgan.  "  I  must 
think  it  over,  Edna.  Am  I  bound  to  resist  it "  ? 

"Bound"? 

"  You  know  I  may  never  be  heard  of  in  science 
outside  of  a  few  partial  contemporaries."  His  lip 
quivered  with  his  wan  smile. 


A  Surrender  147 

"  That  has  really  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  she 
asserted. 

"  I  think  it  has,  Edna,"  he  said  simply.  Then 
suddenly  the  remembrance  of  the  conversation  with 
his  friend  Randall  recurred  to  him  with  vivid  clear 
ness.  He  looked  up  into  his  wife's  eyes  and  said, 
"  After  all,  dear,  it  really  rests  with  you.  The  mod 
ern  woman  is  man's  helpmate  and  counsellor.  What 
do  you  advise  "  ? 

Edna  did  not  answer  for  a  few  moments.  Her 
open  sensible  brow  seemed  to  be  seeking  to  be  dis 
passionate  as  a  judge  and  to  expel  every  vestige  of 
prejudice. 

"  It's  a  very  close  question  to  decide,  Morgan. 
Of  course,  there  are  two  distinct  sides.  You  ask 
me  to  tell  you,  as  your  wife,  what  I  think  is  wisest 
and  best.  I  can't  set  it  forth  as  clearly  as  I  should 
like, — I  won't  attempt  to  give  my  reasons  even.  But 
somehow  my  instinct  tells  me  that  if  you  don't 
accept  Mr.  Dale's  offer,  you  will  be  sorry  three 
years  hence." 

k<  Then  I  shall  accept,  Edna,  dear,"  he  said. 

Three  years  later  I  took  Mrs.  Sidney  Dale  out  to 
dinner  at  the  house  of  a  common  friend  in  New 
York.  In  the  course  of  conversation  I  remarked,  "  I 
believe  it  is  you,  Mrs.  Dale,  who  is  responsible  for 
the  metamorphosis  in  my  friend,  Morgan  Russell/' 

"  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours  "  ? 

"  An  old  friend  since  college  days.  I  never  saw 
any  one  so  spruced  up,  shall  I  call  it?  He  has 


148  A  House  Party 

gained  fifteen  pounds,  is  growing  whiskers  and 
is  beginning  to  look  the  embodiment  of  worldly 
prosperity." 

"It  is  delightful  to  see  them, — both  him  and  his 
•wife.  Yes,  I  suppose  I  may  claim  to  be  responsible 
for  rescuing  him  from  obscurity.  My  husband  finds 
him  a  most  valuable  man  in  his  business.  I'm  very 
fond  of  Mrs.  Russell.  She  hasn't  the  obnoxious 
ways  of  most  progressive  women,  and  she  certainly 
has  executive  ability  and  common  sense.  Being 
such  an  indolent  person  myself,  I  have  always  been 
fascinated  by  her  spirit  and  cleverness.  I'm  glad 
she  has  been  given  a  chance.  They  are  getting  on 
nicely,  I  think." 

"  I  think  she  is  in  her  element  now.  I  was  at  their 
house  the  other  day,"  I  continued  blandly. 
"  It  seems  that  Edna  is  prominent  in  various  edu 
cational  and  philanthropic  bodies,  high  in  the  coun 
cils  of  her  club  and  a  leading  spirit  in  divers  lines  of 
reform.  They  are  entertaining  a  good  deal, — a 
judicious  sprinkling  of  the  fashionable  and  the  lit 
erary.  The  latest  swashbuckler  romances  were  on 
the  table,  and  it  was  evident  from  her  tone  that  she 
regarded  them  as  great  American  literature.  Every 
thing  was  rose  colour.  Morgan  came  home  while  I 
was  there.  His  hands  were  full  of  toys  for  his  chil 
dren  and  violets  for  his  wife.  He  began  to  talk  golf. 
It's  a  complete  case  of  ossification  of  the  soul, — 
pleasant  enough  to  encounter  in  daily  intercourse, 
but  sad  to  contemplate." 


A  Surrender  149 

Mrs.  Dale  turned  in  her  chair.  "  I  believe  you're 
laughing  at  me,  Mr.  Randall.  What  is  sad?  And 
what  do  you  mean  by  ossification  of  the  soul  "  ? 

Said  I  with  quiet  gravity.  "  Fifteen  or  twenty 
thousand  dollars  a  year.  Morgan  Russell's  life  is 
ruined, — and  the  world  had  great  hopes  of  him." 

Mrs.  Dale,  who  was  a  clever  person,  in  spite  of 
her  disclaimers,  was  silent  a  moment.  "  I  know 
what  you  mean,  of  course.  But  I  don't  agree  with 
you  in  the  least.  And  you,"  she  added  with  the  air 
of  a  woman  making  a  telling  point — "  you  the  re 
cently  appointed  attorney  of  the  paper  trust,  with  a 
fabulous  salary,  you're  the  last  man  to  talk  like 
that." 

I  regarded  her  a  moment  with  sardonic  bright 
ness.  "  Mrs.  Dale,"  I  said,  "  it  grieves  us  to  see  the 
ideals  of  our  friends  shattered." 

"  I  knew  I  wasn't  going  to  like  that  story,"  whis 
pered  the  girl,  this  time  to  the  old  gentleman  on  her 
right. 

"  Hush!  don't  you  understand?  "  whispered  back 
the  woman  just  behind  her,  who  had  overheard  the 
statement. 

"  Understand  what?" 

"Why,  it's  his  own  story,  told  as  of  another.  And 
the  worst  of  it  is  that  he  sold  himself — for  his  wife 
— and  she  died  two  years  ago.  There's  a  real  trag 
edy." 

"  And  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  spoke  up  the 
Story-teller  to  break  a  pause  that  was  becoming 


150  A  House  Party 

awkward.  "  Did  my  friend  do  right  ?  Come,"  he 
went  on  lightly,  "  The  lady  or  the  tiger?  Which?  " 

"  Look  here,  Randall,  protested  someone,  "  if  you 
think  you  are  going  to  switch  this  story-telling  into 
a  discussion  of  one  of  the  world's  biggest  problems, 
you  are  very  much  mistaken." 

"  But  should  a  man  sell  himself,"  persisted  Ran 
dall,  "  for  the  sake  of  those  he  loves?  " 

"  *  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole 
world  '  ?  "  croaked  a  spinster,  speaking  for  the  first 
time. 

"  We  must  stop  his  talking  about  it,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Goddard  to  her  husband.  "  Now,  Jack,  it's 
your  turn,"  she  said  aloud. 

"  All  right,"  dutifully  spoke  up  the  well-trained 
American  husband.  "  I'll  tell  you  a  tale  that  will 
answer  Randall's  problem,  which,  as  I  understand  it, 
is  the  conundrum :  *  Is  it  better  to  sell  oneself,  or  to 
sell  others  ?  '  It  was  told  me  by  an  insurance  man, 
and  he  vouched  for  its  truthfulness.  I  shall  stick  on 
a  little  stucco  here  and  there  of  my  own,  and  I  want 
you  to  notice  the  literary  way  I  begin  it — for  I've 
been  getting  that  ready  ever  since  I  realised  that  it 
would  presently  be  '  up  to  me.'  I'll  call  it  AUNT 
NANCY'S  ANNUITY,  and  who  did  the  selling 
I'll  leave  you  to  decide." 


AUNT  NANCY'S  ANNUITY 


SHE  was  an  elderly  lady,  and  as  the  rays  of  tVie 
morning  sun  streamed  through  her  eastern  win 
dows,  she  sat  up  in  bed. 

"If  I  only  could  remember !  If  I  only  could 
remember!  "  she  said  to  herself,  over  and  over  again, 
knitting  her  brows  and  steadfastly  staring  at  the 
footboard  of  her  bedstead. 

Suddenly  an  extraordinarily  bright  ray  of  light 
came  in  from  the  sun  and  gilded  her  brow.  She 
winked  a  little,  but  at  that  movement,  the  contraction 
of  her  brows  disappeared.  She  put  up  her  hand  and 
shielded  her  eyes,  and,  as  she  did  so,  she  exclaimed : 
"  I  don't  see  how  in  the  world  she  should  know,  but 
I'll  ask  her.  I'll  be  careful  about  it  and  I  don't 
believe  it  will  do  any  harm." 

Then  she  got  up  and  dressed  herself. 
Mrs.  Almira  Spence  was  seventy  years  old,  and  a 
widow.  She  was  born  in  1805,  and  up  to  the  Civil 
War  had  lived  in  peace  with  her  husband,  George 
Spence,  on  the  farm  which  he  owned  and  cultivated. 
Captain  Spence — he  had  earned  that  title  by  his 
services  in  the  Mexican  War — did  not  belong  to  one 
of  the  primary  Virginia  families,  but  he  was  a 
worthy  representative  of  that  great  middle  class,  so 
essential  to  the  prosperity  of  every  state  and  country. 
When  the  war  broke  out  the  years  of  Captain  Spence 
— there  were  about  fifty-five  of  them — might  have 

151 


152  A  House  Party 

excused  him  from  immediate  and  active  participation 
in  military  operations,  but  he  did  not  look  at  the 
matter  in  that  light;  and,  having  raised  a  company, 
he  joined  the  Confederate  army,  and  in  the  course 
of  about  eighteen  months  was  killed. 

Mrs.  Spence,  who  had  no  children,  took  two 
female  relatives  to  live  with  her  and  managed  the 
farm  as  well  as  she  could  until  after  the  fall  of 
Richmond,  and  then  she  became  frightened,  and  lost 
all  interest  in  agriculture.  Where  was  the  good  of 
raising  crops  for  the  benefit  of  an  enemy  who  might, 
at  any  time,  swoop  down  upon  them  and  appropriate 
them  to  himself?  She  was  a  thrifty  woman,  and, 
at.  no  time  of  her  life  could  bear  to  see  anything 
wasted;  and,  in  fact,  there  were  those  who  said  that 
during  the  time  that  the  farm  was  in  her  charge  she 
saved  more  than  she  actually  made. 

Understanding  her  disposition  it  cannot  be  sur 
prising  that  Mrs.  Spence  now  made  up  her  mind  that 
not  only  would  she  cease  to  produce  corn,  wheat  and 
tobacco,  which  it  was  probable  would  never  be  of 
any  benefit  to  her,  but  she  would  endeavour  to  pre 
serve,  as  far  as  possible,  such  portable  property  as 
she  already  possessed.  So  she  gathered  together  all 
her  silverware — and  there  was  a  ^ood  deal  of  it,  for 
both  her  husband's  family  and  her  own  had  always 
taken  a  great  interest  in  their  silver — and  she  packed 
in  a  metal  box  such  jewels  as  she  possessed,  and  she 
buried  it  all. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  interment  of  her  valua- 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  153 

bles  that  Mrs.  Spence  heard  that  a  portion  of  the 
Northern  army  was  marching  southward.  In  great 
trepidation,  she  and  the  two  female  relatives  sat  up 
all  night,  starting  with  alarm  at  every  dog  bark. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  widow  went  to  the  front 
door  hoping  to  see  someone  who  would  give  her 
news.  She  did  see  someone.  Coming  round  the 
corner  of  the  road,  not  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
house,  she  saw  two  men  on  horseback.  They  were 
soldiers,  and  they  were  dressed  in  blue.  Behind  them 
came  others;  and  soon  more,  and  more. 

She  understood  it  all.  These  were  the  Yankees 
and  they  were  at  her  very  gate. 

Without  any  further  consideration  of  the  subject, 
she  swooned  and  fell  upon  her  back  in  the  hallway. 

When  Mrs.  Spence  had  fully  recovered  conscious 
ness,  it  was  nearly  noon,  and  the  blue-coated  soldiers 
had  passed  on  without  stopping  at  her  farm.  She 
took  to  her  bed  and  it  was  several  days  before  she 
was  able  to  be  about  the  house.  And  when  she  was 
able  she  and  her  companions  shut  up  the  establish 
ment  and  departed  to  the  home  of  another  relative 
who  lived  far  from  the  ordinary  routes  of  travel, 
and  far  from  all  danger  of  seeing  a  Yankee  army 
ride  up  in  the  cool  of  a  pleasant  morning. 

In  this  back  country  of  refuge  Mrs.  Spence  re 
mained  for  six  years.  Soon  after  the  war  was  ended 
her  farm  was  bought  by  her  husband's  brother  for  a 
small  sum  which,  if  carefully  managed,  might  sup 
port  her  to  the  end  of  her  life. 


154  A  House  Party 

But,  toward  the  close  of  the  six  years  mentioned, 
her  brother-in-law  died,  and,  much  to  her  surprise, 
left  her  her  old  farm. 

When  my  friend  first  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Mrs.  Spence  sitting  up  in  bed,  she  had  been  at  home 
again  but  one  day  and  a  night,  and  during  that  time 
she  had  not  ceased — except  when  she  was  sleeping  or 
talking  to  somebody — to  say  to  herself  over  and 
over  again  :  "  If  I  only  could  remember !  If  I  only 
could  remember !  "  But  it  was  of  no  use ;  she  could 
not  remember. 

When  Mrs.  Spence  had  fallen  in  a  swoon  at  her 
front  door  on  that  bright  morning  when  she  saw  the 
dreaded  soldiers  of  the  North  approaching  her  home, 
she  had  totally  forgotten  a  great  many  things.  Some 
of  these,  in  the  course  of  weeks  or  months,  returned 
to  her  memory,  but  there  was  one  thing  she  could  not 
remember,  and  that  was  the  place  where  she  had 
buried  her  silver  and  her  jewels. 

When  she  had  finished  her  breakfast,  Mrs.  Spence 
went  forth  upon  her  farm,  which,  in  the  bustle  and 
work  of  her  arrival  she  had  not  yet  been  able  to  do. 
There  were  a  few  negro  servants  on  the  place,  mostly 
those  who  had  been  employed  by  her  late  brother- 
in-law,  but  the  only  one  of  them  whom  Mrs.  Spence 
now  cared  to  see  was  an  old  black  woman  by  the 
name  of  Aunt  Nancy,  who  had  been  for  many  years 
her  especial  servitor  and  household  adviser.  Aunt 
Nancy  was  now  reputed  to  be  an  exceptionally  old 
woman,  and,  having,  on  account  of  her  age  and  a 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  155 

trustworthy  rheumatism  which  could  be  relied  upon 
never  to  leave  her,  withdrawn  from  all  active  occu 
pations,  depending  for  her  livelihood  upon  the  good 
will  of  others,  which,  so  far,  had  never  failed  her. 

When  her  visitor  came  in  sight,  Aunt  Nancy  rose 
from  her  stool  outside  her  cabin  door  and  advanced 
with  a  quick  and  eager  step. 

"  Howdy,  Ole  Miss  ?  "  she  said,  extending  her 
hand;  "  I  knowed  you'd  come  down  to-day,  but  I 
kinder  half  'spected  you  yistiddy." 

The  two  old  friends  had  said  but  little  to  each 
other  when  Aunt  Nancy  abruptly  asked :  "I  reckon 
de  fust  thing  you'se  gwine  do,  Ole  Miss,  is  to  dig  up 
dem  coffee-pots  and  cannelsticks  ?  " 

Mrs.  Spence  could  not  immediately  find  voice  to 
speak.  She  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  This  most 
important  question  which  she  had  expected  to  ap 
proach  with  guarded  circumlocution ;  this  great  ques 
tion  with  which,  for  so  many  years  she  had  harried 
her  soul ;  which  she  had  never  mentioned  to  anyone, 
fearing  that  if  her  brother-in-law  knew  of  it  he 
would  claim,  that  with  the  estate  he  had  bought 
everything  on  or  in  it;  this  great  secret  of  her  life 
(for  how  could  anybody  know  that  her  family  plate 
was  not  packed  up  in  one  of  her  boxes?)  was  now 
blurted  out  at  her  by  this  wrinkled  old  black 
woman. 

"  Aunt  Nancy,"  she  faltered,  "  do  you  know 
where  that  silver  was  buried  ?  " 

Nancy  gazed  steadily  into  the  face  of  her  old 


156  A  House  Party 

mistress,  and  her  glance  was  as  bright  and  strong  as 
it  ever  had  been.  "  Has  you  done  gone  an'  for 
got  ?  "  she  said. 

The  voice  of  Mrs.  Spence  was  very  weak  as  she 
replied :  '  Yes,  Aunt  Nancy,  I've  forgotten  all 
about  it.  I  don't  know  where  it  was  put,  nor  how 
it  came  to  be  put  there,  wherever  it  is.  When  the 
Yankees  came  and  I  fainted  away,  it  all  went  out 
of  my  head,  and  it  never  has  come  back.  But  how 
do  you  know  anything  about  it  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  Why,  bless  yo'  soul,  Ole 
Miss,  I  know,  'case  I  he'p  you  put  it  dar." 

The  trembling  Mrs.  Spence  looked  very  much 
as  if  she  were  going  to  swoon  again,  for  the  second 
time  in  her  life,  but  Aunt  Nancy  led  her  to  her  own 
little  stool  and  brought  her  some  water  in  a  gourd. 

As  soon  as  she  could  speak,  Mrs.  Spence  asked: 
"  And  have  you  ever  told  anybody  of  this,  Aunt 
Nancy?" 

"Tole  'em?"  exclaimed  she,  "what  I  go  tole 
anybody  fer  ?  I  he'ped  you  bury  dem  coffee-pots  and 
cannelsticks,  and  I  jes'  waited  till  you  was  ready 
to  come  and  git  me  to  he'p  you  to  unbury  'em.  I 
reckon  dat's  why  Fse  kep  on  livin'  so  long  fer.  I 
don't  see  any  udder  reason  why  I'se  kep  on 
livin'." 

"  Aunt  Nancy,"  said  Mrs.  Spence,  "  tell  me  all 
about  it,  where  is  that  silver  buried  ?  " 

Aunt  Nancy  seated  herself  on  a  log  of  wood  near 
by.  "  Well,  den,  dis  was  de  way  ob  it.  When  we 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  157 

all  heard  de  Yankees  was  comin',  you  says  to  me: 
'  Aunt  Nancy,  you  an'  me  has  got  to  bury  all  my 
family  silber,  fer  I  wouldn't  trus'  nobody  else  wid 
knowin'  whar  it's  put.  Now  whar  kin  we  go  an'  dig 
a  hole?'" 

"  We  won't  have  to  dig  no  hole,"  says  I,  "  fer 
Brown  Sal  is  to  be  buried  to-morrer  an'  deys  gwine 
ter  dig  her  grave  dis  ebenin'.  When  you  ax  me  what 
I  tell  you  dat  fer,  I  says,  'dey  gwine  ter  dig  de  grave 
in  de  little  buryin'  groun'  by  de  woods,  an'  when 
'  dey've  done  dug  it  an'  gone  away  I'll  go  out  when  de 
moon's  up  an'  dig  it  deeper.  I  ain't  afeard  ob  gittin' 
into  no  grave  when  dey  aint  nobody  dar.  An'  den 
you  an'  me  kin  take  all  dem  coffee-pots  an'  silber 
things,  an'  we  kin  lay  'em  along  de  bottom  ob  de 
grave  an'  I'll  kiver  'em  up  wid  dirt  an'  make  it  as 
deep  as  it  wuz  befo'.  Den  when  dey  puts  Brown 
Sal  in  dar,  an'  kivers  her  up  dey  aint  nobody  in 
dis  county  dat  wouldn't  be  scared  to  'sturb  dat  silber, 
eben  ef  dey  wuz  dead  sure  it  wuz  dar.  Brown  Sal 
wuz  powerful  wicked,  an'  ef  de  debbil  didn't  happen 
to  be  talkin'  wid  her  when  anybody  come  to  dig  her 
up,  she's  purty  nigh  as  bad  as  de  debbil  hisself,  an' 
wouldn't  stan'  no  'sturbance." 

"But  who  are  we  going  to  get  to  move  her?" 
asked  Mrs.  Spence  whose  agitation  was  now  lessen 
ing,  and  who  was  beginning  to  look  at  the  matter  in 
hand  in  an  eager,  business-like  way.  "  Brown  Sal 
has  got  to  be  moved  before  we  can  get  at  the  silver. 
And  is  there  anybody  in  this  place  who  wouldn't 


158  A  House  Party 

be  afraid  to  move  her?  I  remember  her.  She  was 
truly  a  wicked  woman." 

Aunt  Nancy  shrugged  her  shoulders;  "  Move 
her!  "  she  ejaculated.  "  I  reckon  not!  But  dar  aint 
no  'casion  to  move  her.  You  member  ole 
Abraham?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  said  the  other,  "  of  course  I  remem 
ber  him." 

"  Brudder  Abraham  wuz  a  good  man,"  said  Aunt 
Nancy.  "  Dar  wa'nt  nobody  in  dis  county  nor  in 
any  nex'  county  dat  wuz  pious  as  he  wuz.  Brudder 
Abraham  wuz  buried  in  de  grave  right  Alongside  ob 
Brown  Sal,  an'  a  good  deep  grave,  too,  fer,  in  de 
days  when  he  wuz  buried  de  boys  wa'nt  half  scared 
to  death  by  de  Yankees  comin'  an'  dey  did  him  mo* 
jestice  den  dey  did  Brown  Sal,  which  dey  put  in 
mo'  shaller.  Now  my  way  ob  doin'  dis  thing  is  jes' 
dis.  I's  agwine  ter  dig  down  into  Brudder 
Abraham's  grave." 

"  You!  "  cried  Mrs.  Spence,  "  you  dig!  " 

"  Ob  co'se  it's  me.  It's  got  ter  be  me !  Dar  ain't 
nobody  else  on  dis  place  to  do  it.  A  lot  of  triflin' 
fellars  dat  come  from  nobody  knows  whar.  Ef 
dey  didn't  know  'bout  Brown  Sal  an'  wa'nt  afeard  of 
her,  dem  silber  things  would  have  mighty  good 
'casion  to  be  afeard  of  dem." 

"But  you  can't  dig,  Aunt  Nancy!"  said  Mrs. 

Spence,  "  you  are  too  old,  you've  got  the  rheumatism 

j> 

Aunt  Nancy  shrugged  her  shoulders;  "  I'se  too 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  159 

old  an'  too  rheumaticky  to  be  wukkin'  about  de 
house  when  deys  good  fer  nothin'  young  uns  to 
do  it  fer  me;  but  I  aint  never  too  old  to  do  de  wuk  I 
don'  wan'  nobody  else  to  do  fer  me.  You  let  me 
alone  fer  dat,  Ole  Miss!  I'll  go  to  Brudder  Abra 
ham's  grave,  I  aint  scared  of  'sturbin'  him  fer  he 
never  did  speak  cross  to  nobody  when  he  wuz  alive 
an'  I  don'  reckon  he'd  do  it  now," 

"  Aunt  Nancy,"  said  Mrs.  Spence,  "  what  is  the 
use  of  your  digging  into  old  Abraham's  grave?  " 

"  Jes'  wait  till  I  tole  you,  Ole  Miss.  I'll  dig  down 
till  I  gits  eben  wid  de  bottom  ob  Brown  Sal's  grave. 
I  know  zactly  how  far  to  go  'case  when  I  done  kiver 
up  de  silber  I  measured  de  deepness  wid  a  long 
handled  shubbil,  an'  de  top  ob  de  han'l  jes'  come  eben 
wid  de  top  ob  de  groun'.  I  got  dat  shubbil  yit,  fer 
I  done  hide  it  away  in  my  cabin,  a  knowin'  I'd  want 
it  agin  some  day.  Den  Ole  Miss,  I  digs  on  down 
till  I'se  done  gon'  pas'  Brown  Sal;  I'll  dig  a  little 
furder,  an'  den  I  stops.  Dem  two  graves  is  mighty 
close  togedder,  'case  der's  a  rock  on  de  udder  side  ob 
Brown  Sal  which  dem  triflin'  boys  wuz  too  lazy  to 
git  out.  So  I  takes  a  short  han'l  stove  shubbil  which 
I  brings  along,  an'  I  digs  away  de  dirt  till  I  gits 
pretty  nigh  under  Brown  Sal;  den  I  grabble  under 
her  fer  dem  coffee-pots,  jes'  like  we  grabble  fer 
sweet  'taters.  Den  I  pulls  out  de  silber  an'  hans  it  up 
to  you,  widout  'sturbin'  Brown  Sal." 

"  Bless  my  soul.  Aunt  Nancy !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Spence;  "how  could  you  ever  think  out  all  that?" 


160  A  House  Party 

"  Lor,  Ole  Miss,  I  reckon  as  I  had  time  enough 
to  think  it  ober.  Dat's  about  all  de  wuk  I'se  done  fer 
many  a  day." 

For  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Spence  said  nothing, 
her  mind  was  filled  with  dazzling  visions  of  owning 
her  family  silver  once  again;  that  silver  which  she 
had  begun  to  fear  was  forever  lost. 

"  But,  Aunt  Nancy,"  she  said,  "  how  will  you 
know  when  you  have  got  it  all  ?  It  will  be  mixed  up 
with  dirt  and " 

"  Oh,  I'll  count  'em  as  I  han'  'em  up,"  said  Aunt 
Nancy,  "I  aint  done  forgit  one  ob  'em;  two  tall 
coffee-pots  an'  one  little  squat  one  what  Massa 
George  gib  you  when  you  wuz  married;  an'  free  tea 
pots,  one  wid  a  black  wooden  han'l;  fo'  cream  jugs; 
a  little  sugar  bowl,  a  big  sugar  bowl  an'  a  middlin' 
one;  two  big  cannelsticks  wid  branching  horns  an' 
two  tall  ones  what  only  hoi'  one  cannel,  dat  yo' 
Aunt  Helen  allus  said  oughter  been  hern,  an'  dat  you 
stuck  out  wuz  yourn  an'  which  wuz;  an'  two  dozen 
forks'  an'  one  dozen  little  ones;  an'  free  dozen 
spoons  little  an'  big;  an'  six  little  bits  of  spoons  fer 
salt  an'  to  put  in  a  mustard  can;  an'  one  big  tray 
an'  a  round  one  fer  handin'  cups;  an'  two  sugar 
tongs,  one  what  used  to  b'long  to  your  Gran'ma;  an' 
a  big  spoon  fer  strawberries;  an'  a  soup  ladle;  an'  dat 
wuz  all  'cept  two  silber  vegetable  dishes  wid  tops 
dat  wuz  only  used  when  dey  wuz  company.  I  don't 
forgit  none  ob  'em  as  you  han'  'em  down  to  me,  de 
spoons  an'  de  forks  tied  togedder  into  little  bundles 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  161 

wid  bonnet  wire  wot  wouldn't  rot  an'  break.  Den 
dar  wuz  dat  little  black  tin  box  wot  had  yo'  rings  in 
an'  yo'  breas'  pins  an'  dat  ar  long  watch  chain  wot 
you  danced  wid  de  Gub'ner  in  when  you  wuz  young 
in  Richmond.  An'  dat's  all  of  'em  cept  my  big 
scissors  dat  I  thought  I  might  as  well  save  from  de 
Yankees  while  I  wuz  about  it.  An'  so  I  wrop  'em  up 
in  a  hankercher  an'  stick  'em  in  mong  de  udder 
things." 

"  And  you  really  believe,  Aunt  Nancy/'  said  Mrs. 
Spence,  who  so  well  remembered  every  article  the  old 
woman  mentioned,  "  that  all  these  things  are  still 
there?" 

"  Dey  done  got  to  be  dar!  Dey  aint  nobody  to 
take  em  out  cept  it  wuz  Brown  Sal  herself,  an'  she 
couldn't  git  at  'em  'case  dey  wuz  unner  her;  do'  she 
wuz  bad  'nough,  de  Lor'  knows  to  han'  em  out  up 
throo  de  dirt  to  some  triflin'  nigger  dat  wuz  a  waitin' 
fer  'em  on  top." 

This  supposition  did  not  frighten  Mrs.  Spence. 
She  rose;  "  Aunt  Nancy,"  she  said,  "  when  shall  we 
go  to  work  to  get  out  that  silver  ?  " 

"  Dis  berry  night.  To-morrer  night  as  like  as  not 
it'll  be  thunnerin'  an'  lightnin'  an'  rainin'  an'  pourin', 
an'  I  don'  wan'  to  dig  into  no  graves  in  a  thunner 
storm.  De  moon  will  be  up  by  ten  o'clock  an'  all  de 
folks  will  be  in  bed." 

"Shall  we  meet  here?" 

Aunt  Nancy  shook  her  head.  "  Dat  would  be 
dangersome,  Ole  Miss.  Ef  we  go  to  de  graveyard 


1 62  A  House  Party 

sep'rate  we  less  likely  to  be  seed,  an'  mo'  likely  to  be 
took  fer  spooks  ef  we  is." 

The  moon,  somewhat  past  the  full,  was  just  visi 
ble  above  the  horizon,  when  Mrs.  Almira  Spence 
slipped  out  of  a  door  in  the  wing  of  her  house — the 
relative  who  lived  with  her  had  been  asleep  for  an 
hour — and  swiftly  made  her  way  to  the  graveyard 
by  the  woods.  This  was  a  small  triangular  space  in 
the  corner  of  a  field,  enclosed  by  a  rail  fence  and 
overshadowed  by  trees.  Two  generations  back  it 
had  been  used  for  a  burial  place  for  the  slaves  of  the 
estate.  A  rough  stone  was  at  the  head  and  foot  of 
each  grave,  but  there  were  no  inscriptions.  When 
Aunt  Nancy  should  die  there  would  be  no  one  in 
the  world  who  would  be  qualified  to  say  anything 
positive  in  regard  to  the  occupancy  of  these  graves, 
now  crowded  closely  together  and  overgrown  with 
grass  and  wild  flowers.  Mrs.  Spence  had  attended 
the  funeral  of  some  of  these  old  servants,  but  that 
was  long,  long  ago. 

As  she  approached  the  enclosure  she  heard  a  slight 
grating  sound  occurring  at  intervals;  and  when  she 
reached  the  fence  she  saw  a  spadeful  of  earth  rise 
out  of  the  ground.  It  was  quickly  thrown  out  and 
the  empty  spade  disappeared.  The  bars  of  the  fence 
were  down,  and  she  hurried  in.  Aunt  Nancy  was  in 
a  great  hole  which  hid  her  when  she  stooped,  and  she 
was  throwing  spadefuls  of  light  sandy  loam  with 
great  rapidity  and  regularity. 

"  Why,  Aunt  Nancy,"  exclaimed  Mrs.   Spence, 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  163 

looking  down  upon  her,  "  how  much  you  have  done ! 
How  long  have  you  been  here?  " 

The  old  woman  stopped  digging;  "  Oh,  I  come  as 
soon  as  dey  all  done  gone  to  bed,"  she  said.  "  I 
wanted  to  git  de  whole  business  done  fo'  you  come.  I 
aint  done  yit  but  pretty  nigh.  I'se  got  down  eben 
wid  Brown  Sal  an'  I'll  pass  her  mighty  quick."  And 
she  began  again  to  dig  violently. 

In  vain  Mrs.  Spence  urged  the  old  woman  to  stop 
and  rest  herself.  Aunt  Nancy  grinned. 

"  Don'  wan'  to  stop  till  I'se  done,''  she  said. 
"  Bless  yo'  soul,  Ole  Miss,  dar  aint  no  tire  in  me! 
Lor !  how  dem  triflin'  boys  would  open  dere  eyes  ef 
dey  could  see  me  dig.  Dey'd  neber  cut  me  anudder 
stick  ob  wood,  nor  fetch  me  anudder  pail  ob  water." 

Ten  minutes  passed,  and  then  Aunt  Nancy 
stopped  and  measured  the  depth  of  the  hole  with  her 
long-handled  spade. 

"  I'se  below  her  now,"  she  said,  "  an'  ef  you'll  han' 
me  dat  little  short-han'l  shubble,  I'll  begin  grabblin'. 
I  don'  wan'  to  dig  down  too  fur.  Brudder  Abraham 
wuz  a  mighty  pious  man,  but  I  don'  wan'  to  git 
down  'mongst  him." 

On  her  knees  went  Aunt  Nancy  and  with  great 
energy  she  began  digging  with  a  short-handled 
shovel  into  one  side  of  her  narrow  excavation.  She 
dug  rapidly  but  cautiously,  and  when  she  thought 
she  had  gone  as  far  as  she  dared  with  her  shovel 
she  began  to  dig  with  her  long,  black  hands,  bring 
ing  out  stones  and  small  lumps  of  earth  which  she 


164  A  House  Party 

threw  on  each  side  of  her.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
sharp  exclamation,  almost  a  yell,  and  Aunt  Nancy 
bounded  out  of  that  hole  as  if  she  had  been  a  big 
black  cat,  startling  Mrs.  Spence  so  that  she  nearly 
fell  backward.  The  old  woman  stood  trembling. 

"  Lor,  Ole  Miss !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  done  got 
hoi' ob  Brown  Sal's  leg!" 

Mrs.  Spence  was  shocked  and  disappointed.  Until 
this  moment  she  had  not  believed  that  anything  could 
frighten  Aunt  Nancy  and  make  her  abandon  the 
work  at  which  she  had  laboured  with  such  energy 
and  zeal. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Aunt  Nancy?" 
said  she.  "  That's  impossible !  " 

"  Not  fer  Brown  Sal,"  said  the  other.  "  She  done 
stuck  her  leg  thoo  her  bottom  boards." 

"  Aunt  Nancy,"  said  the  now  anxious  Mrs. 
Spence,  "  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  all  that !  I  am 
going  to  get  down  into  that  hole  myself.  I  can't 
stop  hunting  for  my  silver,  Brown  Sal  or  no  Brown 
Sal!" 

Mrs.  Almira  Spence  was  seventy  years  old,  but 
she  was  thin  and  wiry  and  still  active.  She  backed 
herself  into  the  hole  and,  accompanied  by  a  good 
deal  of  falling  gravel,  she  reached  the  bottom. 
Kneeling  down  she  cautiously  put  one  hand  into  the 
opening  which  Aunt  Nancy  had  made.  Feeling 
about,  she  touched  something  which  might  have 
been  Brown  Sal.  Suppose  it  should  be!  But  Mrs. 
Spence  felt  that  nothing  must  frighten  her.  The 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  165 

business  which  had  led  her  down  into  the  darkness  of 
the  earth  was  too  important.  She  pulled  and  she 
pulled,  and  directly  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Look  at  that  Aunt  Nancy!  "  she  cried,  and  tear 
ing  a  piece  of  dirty  linen  cloth  from  an  object  which 
she  held  up  in  the  moonlight.  "  That's  the  big  coffee 
pot,  and  you  had  hold  of  the  spout !  " 

Aunt  Nancy  clutched  the  coffee-pot  and,  for  an  in 
stant,  she  clasped  it  to  her  breast.  "  Come,  git  out 
ob  dat,  Ole  Miss!"  she  cried,  "  I'se  gwine  down 
now.  Gib  me  yo'  han'  an'  I'll  h'ist  you  up." 

After  some  vigourous  tugs  and  some  scrambling 
and  scratching,  Mrs.  Spence  emerged  from  the  hole, 
into  which  Aunt  Nancy  immediately  jumped.  The 
short  shovel  and  the  long  bony  fingers  now  began 
to  work  with  nervous  energy,  and,  in  a  few  minutes, 
Aunt  Nancy  rose  to  her  feet;  "  Dat's  de  squat  one, 
Ole  Miss,"  she  said,  "  I  know  it  by  its  feel." 

For  nearly  an  hour  the  digging  and  the  scramb 
ling  below,  and  the  delivery  of  the  recovered  treasure 
above  went  on,  Aunt  Nancy  repeating  the  name  of 
each  article  as  she  handed  it  up.  The  japanned 
box  with  the  rings  and  the  breastpins  was  the  last 
thing  recovered,  for  it  had  been  buried  a  little  dis 
tance  from  the  silver;  and  then  Aunt  Nancy  stood 
up  and  repeated  over  the  names  of  the  articles  as  if 
she  had  been  reading  them  from  a  written  list.  Mrs. 
Spence  put  them  to  one  side  as  their  names  were 
called.  Everything  was  there.  She  could  scarcely 
refrain  from  crying  with  joy  as  she  saw,  lying  be- 


1 66  A  House  Party 

fore  her  on  the  grass  in  the  moonlight,  the  family 
silver  of  her  childhood;  the  cherished  silver  plate  of 
her  young  married  days;  the  familiar  treasures  of 
nearly  her  whole  life.  For  some  moments  she  did 
not  speak.  The  whole  world  had  been  changed  for 
her.  She  could  not  speak  of  what  had  happened; 
she  could  not  even  think  coherently.  She  stooped 
to  pick  up  some  of  the  uncanny  looking  articles 
which  lay  about  in  their  earth-stained  coverings. 

"  Aunt  Nancy,"  she  presently  said,  "  we  must 
hurry  and  take  these  things  to  the  house;  we  may 
have  to  make  several  trips." 

Aunt  Nancy  turned  and  looked  at  her  for  a  mo 
ment.  "  Not  till  Fse  filled  up  dis  hole." 

"Why  do  you  bother  about  the  hole?"  said  the 
other,  "  when  the  silver  is  all  safe  in  the  house  it 
won't  matter  who  sees  the  hole." 

""Ole  Miss,"  said  Aunt  Nancy  standing  very  up 
right,  with  the  spade  in  her  hand,  "  does  you  'spose 
I'se  gwine  away  and  leave  Brudder  Abraham  un- 
kivered  ?  Does  you  'spose  I  kin  sleep  in  my  bed  an' 
think  o'  dat  ar  pious  man  wid  de  rain  arainin'  down 
into  his  grave,  an'  de  thunner  athunnerin'  down  into 
it,  an'  de  lightnin'  alightnin'  down  into  it?  Oh,  no, 
Ole  Miss,  I'se  got  to  kiver  up  Brudder  Abraham 
fust.  Plenty  ob  time  to  tote  dem  things  when  dat 
is  done." 

When  the  hole  was  filled  up,  the  earth  trampled 
down  and  smoothed  over,  and  the  newly  dug  soil 
partly  covered  with  leaves  and  sticks,  the  transporta- 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  167 

tion  of  the  silver  plate  began ;  and  long  before  morn 
ing  it  was  safely  deposited  in  the  bureau  drawers  of 
the  guest  chamber  on  the  first  floor,  from  which  it 
had  been  taken  when  the  news  came  that  the  Yankees 
were  marching  into  the  county. 

"  To-morrer,"  said  Aunt  Nancy,  "  I'll  come  an' 
I'll  clean  all  dat  silber.  Nobody  eber  done  it  but  me 
sence  I  wuz  growed  up.  Dat's  de  way  I  know'd 
zactly  eberyting  what  Brown  Sal  had  under  her." 

A  month  passed,  and  Mrs.  Spence  determined 
to  sell  her  silver.  Every  piece  of  it  had  been 
cleaned  and  polished  by  the  vigourous  arm  of 
Aunt  Nancy.  Day  by  day  its  owner  had  sat  gazing 
upon  it  and  living  over  again  the  happy  days  when 
it  had  adorned  her  sideboard  and  her  table.  And 
yet,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  sell  it,  and  with  the 
proceeds  to  buy  an  annuity.  She  was  poor.  Under 
her  management  her  farm  could  not  be  very  pro 
ductive.  She  did  not  expect  to  indulge  in  hospi 
talities  in  which  family  plate  would  fitly  figure;  she 
had  no  direct  heirs,  and  she  wisely  concluded  that 
the  best  thing  her  silver  could  do  for  her  would  be  to 
support  her  for  the  rest  of  her  days. 

Business  friends  in  Richmond  were  consulted  and 
they  approved;  and,  after  a  good  deal  of  correspond 
ence,  many  tears,  three  visits  from  jewellers  and  one 
from  the  agent  of  an  Annuity  Company,  the  busi 
ness  was  consummated.  The  silver  had  been  found 
valuable,  not  only  on  account  of  the  weight  of  the 
metal,  but  because  of  its  quaint  and  antique  designs; 


1 68  A  House  Party 

and  the  jewelry  in  the  black  tin  box  proved  to  be 
worth  much  more  than  its  owner  had  ever  sup 
posed. 

The  silver  had  been  so  well  preserved  that  there 
were  no  imperfect  sets,  except  in  one  instance — a 
package  which  should  have  contained  a  dozen  table 
spoons  was  found  to  lack  one  spoon.  But  Mrs. 
Spence  and  Aunt  Nancy  both  agreed  that  it  would 
not  pay  to  again  run  the  risk  of  disturbing  Brown 
Sal  or  Brother  Abraham  for  the  sake  of  one 
tablespoon. 

The  family  treasures  were  gone,  and  Mrs.  Spence 
was  in  receipt  of  a  small  income  for  life.  In  all 
these  proceedings  Aunt  Nancy  took  an  active  in 
terest.  At  first  her  soul  rebelled  against  the  sacri 
fice,  as  she  considered  it,  of  the  silver  which  she  had 
adored  and  cleaned  since  she  was  a  mere  girl;  but 
before  the  eloquent  reasoning  of  Mrs.  Spence  she  had 
gradually  withdrawn  her  opposition;  and  when  her 
old  mistress  informed  her,  that,  as  she  had  been  the 
main  agent  in  bringing  about  this  new  era  of  pros 
perity,  she  should  share  in  it;  and,  that  whenever 
Mrs.  Spence  received  an  annuity  payment,  her  faith 
ful  old  servant  should  be  given  a  certain,  though 
small,  portion  of  it,  her  joy  and  gratitude  were 
all-pervasive. 

"  I  kin  see  de  sun  shine  in  de  middle  ob  de  night !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  Ebery  minute  de  soul  widin  me 
hops  an*  sings.  Dat  ar  money  reglar  ebery  month  as 
long  as  I  live !  Glory !  Glory !  Glory !  " 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  169 

"  You  are  not  quite  right,  Aunt  Nancy,"  said 
Mrs.  Spence,  "  you'll  get  your  money  as  long  as  I 
live,  but  you  won't  get  any  after  that." 

"  Oh ! "  exclaimed  Aunt  Nancy,  a  new  light 
breaking  in  upon  her,  "  dat's  de  way  ob  it,  eh? 
When  you's  gone  to  de  udder  side  ob  Jordan  dar 
aint  no  use  ob  me  stayin'  on  dis  sho'.  My  money 
stop  off  short  wid  Ole  Miss?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Spence,  "  it'll  stop  off  short." 

From  this  moment  the  great  object  of  Aunt 
Nancy's  life  was  to  make  Mrs.  Almira  Spence  live 
as  long  as  possible.  Never  was  man.  woman,  or 
child  more  carefully  guarded  and  watched  over  by 
day  and  by  night.  Aunt  Nancy,  like  a  lean  and 
dusky  guardian  angel  stood,  as  far  as  she  was  able, 
between  her  mistress  and  every  danger. 

Over  and  over  again  did  Mrs.  Spence  regret  that 
she  had  made  clear  to  Aunt  Nancy  the  nature  of  an 
Annuity.  She  found  that  she  was  no  longer  an  in 
dependent  woman;  she  was  a  slave  to  the  ceaseless 
vigilance  of  one  who  had  once  belonged  to  her. 

Aunt  Nancy  left  her  old  cabin  and  established  her 
self  in  the  house.  She  was  a  body-servant,  a  counsel 
lor,  and,  sometimes  a  despot.  Often  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  Mrs.  Spence  would  hear  the  window  in 
her  chamber  which  she  had  left  ©pen,  come  slowly 
down,  and  she  knew  very  well  who  was  lower 
ing  it. 

"  Aunt  Nancy,"  she  once  said,  "  do  you  want  to 
suffocate  me  ?  " 


170  A  House  Party 

"  Bless  yo'  soul,  Ole  Miss,"  was  the  reply,  "  I'd  be 
de  las'  pusson  in  dis  worl'  to  do  dat !  But  I  can't  bar 
to  think  of  dem  'nuity  people  gettin'  rich  froo  yo' 
sleepin'  in  de  col'  night  ar." 

"  Bother  on  you,  .Aunt  Nancy !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Spence,  turning  irritably  in  her  bed,  "  I'd  rather 
take  cold  and  die  and  be  done  with  it,  than  to  have 
you  fussing  about  me  this  way  by  day  and  by 
night." 

"  Dat's  all  bery  well  for  you,  Ole  Miss,  when  you 
dead  an'  gone  you  won'  care  no  mo'  'bout  de  money ; 
it's  dem  what  is  lef  behin'  wat's  got  to  be  thinked 
ob." 

In  her  eating  and  drinking,  Mrs.  Spence  was  as 
uncomfortable  as  Sancho  Panza  under  the  eye  of  the 
court  physician.  If  it  were  possible  for  Aunt  Nancy 
to  prevent  it,  nothing  unwholesome  ever  passed  the 
lips  of  her  mistress.  The  cucumber  vines  in  the 
garden  died  before  the  fruit  was  large  enough  to 
eat,  and  it  was  discovered  that  every  one  of  them 
had  been  cut  near  the  root.  Aunt  Nancy  was  an  ex 
cellent  cook  and  insisted  upon  making  all  the  cake, 
and  she  made  it  so  plain  and  wholesome  that  Mrs. 
Spence  could  scarcely  eat  it. 

Once  the  good  lady  determined  to  break  loose 
from  this  beneficent  tyranny,  and  she  offered  Aunt 
Nancy  a  lump  sum  in  place  of  her  regular  allowance. 
The  poor  old  soul  was  so  distressed  at  the  idea  of 
losing  her  monthly  income,  that  the  proposition  was 
withdrawn  and  referred  to  no  more. 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  171 

Mrs.  Almira  Spence  was  seventy  years  old,  but  she 
was  well-preserved  in  face  and  figure.  She  was 
erect;  she  was  active,  and,  when  she  was  not  con 
scious  of  the  sleepless  vigilance  of  Aunt  Nancy,  she 
was  lively.  Good  health ;  a  good  house,  and  a  suffi 
cient  income  gave  her  an  air  of  satisfaction  and 
content  which  decreased  her  apparent  age  and  added 
greatly  to  her  attractions  in  the  eyes  of  her  friends 
and  acquaintances.  It  was  not  at  all  surprising, 
therefore,  that  there  were  occasional  remarks  in  re 
gard  to  matrimonial  possibilities  in  the  direction  of 
Mrs.  Spence.  People  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to 
pick  out  this  or  that  desirable  elderly  gentleman  who 
would  be  a  good  match  for  her.  It  seemed  a  pity 
that  she  should  not  have  someone  to  help  her  enjoy 
her  pleasant  fortune. 

When  Aunt  Nancy  first  heard  these  remarks — 
and  there  were  very  few  things  said  about  Mrs. 
Spence  that  she  did  not  hear — she  was  greatly  dis 
turbed.  If  her  "  Ole  Miss "  should  get  married 
everything  in  that  household  would  be  upset,  and  in 
the  midst  of  the  general  wreck  and  ruin  she  saw  her 
self  back  in  her  little  cabin,  of  no  good  to  anybody 
and  nobody  caring  for  her,  and,  most  likely,  without 
a  regular  income.  In  all  the  different  ways  in  which 
she  had  to  work  in  order  to  make  Mrs.  Spence  live 
long  and  prosper,  guarding  her  against  wedlock 
was  one  of  the  most  important.  No  duenna,  sleeping 
with  one  ear  open  that  she  might  hear  the  first  tinkle 
of  a  guitar  under  the  window  above  her  young  ward, 


172  A  House  Party 

ever  kept  a  sharper  lookout  for  lovers,  than  did  old 
Aunt  Nancy. 

One  morning  as  the  old  woman  was  on  her  way 
from  the  house  to  her  cabin,  she  saw  approaching,  a 
gentleman  on  horseback.  Aunt  Nancy  knew  him 
instantly.  It  was  Mr.  Hobson  Baldwin,  a  very  rep 
utable  elderly  gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood  and 
an  old  friend  of  the  Spence  family.  Aunt  Nancy's 
eyes  flashed  and,  in  a  moment  they  told  her  that 
this  visitor  had  on  his  Sunday  clothes  and  a  new 
straw  hat.  This  was  soul  chilling.  He  also  held  in 
his  hand  a  store  whip.  Never  before  had  she  seen 
Mr.  Hobson  Baldwin  ride  with  anything  better  than 
a  switch  cut  from  a  tree.  The  old  woman's  soul 
was  agitated.  Had  this  man  on  horseback  been  Mr. 
Frederick  Baldwin,  who  had  a  wife  and  five  children, 
she  would  have  viewed  his  approach  with  composure, 
but  Mr.  Hobson  was  a  bachelor. 

"  Morning,  Aunt  Nancy,"  said  Mr.  Baldwin,  "  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  can  get  about  so  spry.  Is  Mrs. 
Spence  at  home?  " 

The  old  woman  would  have  snapped  back  at  him 
an  answer  in  kind  but  she  wras  too  wary  for  that.  It 
would  never  do  to  make  him  angry  or  he  might  pass 
her  without  further  remark. 

"  Yes,  suh,"  said  she,  "  she  at  home,  but  she  aint 
seen  nobody  dis  mornin'." 

"  Isn't  she  well  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hobson  Baldwin. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  said  Aunt  Nancy,  "  she's  well  as  she 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  173 

ever  is,  but  she  ainrt  see  nobody  dis  mornin',  nor  dis 
ebenin',  but  I  reckon  cle  glue'l  be  dry  to-morrer." 
"  Glue!  "  asked  Mr.  Hobson,  "  what  glue?  " 
"  Now  I  didn't  'tend  to  tell  you  dat,"  said  Aunt 
Nancy,  "  fer  I  know  Ole  Miss  wouldn't  like  it,  but  it 
jes'  slip  out,  an'  I  hopes  you  won'  tell  her  dat  I  tole 
you.  But  de  fac'  is,  she  bus'  her  wig  las'  night  an' 
I'se  gwine  down  to  my  house  to  git  de  glue  pot  what 
I  took  down  dar  las'  week  to  men'  a  cheer.  I  done 
tole  her  long  'go  dat  dat  wig  wuz  gibin  way  an'  dat 
it  would  bus'  some  day'  an'  dat  she  oughter  buy  a 
new  one,  but  Ole  Miss  she  says  dat  she  wo'  dat  so 
long  an'  got  used  to  de  feel  ob  it.  An'  mo'n  dat  ef 
she  got  a  new  one  ev'ybody'd  know  it,  an'  den  nex' 
thing  they'd  be  'spicionin'  her  teeth,  an'  she  wouldn't 
hab  dat  happen  fer  anything  in  dis  worl'.  An'  so 
she  stuck  to  her  ol'  wig  an'  las'  night  it  bus'  jes'  as 
I  done  tole  her  'twould  over  an'  over  agin.  An'  de 
ole  har  come  out  long  de  broken  edges  so  dat  even 
ef  dey  wuz  sewed  togedder  dar'd  be  a  long  empty 
streak  long  de  middle  like  a  pahth  down  de  gyarden. 
So  now  I  am  goin'  to  git  de  glue  an'  we's  goin'  to 
glue  it  togedder,  an'  den  we's  goin'  to  take  de  hars 
what  is  lef  out  an'  dip  de  en's  in  de  glue  an'  stick 
'em  in  de  wig.  An'  I  'specs  cle  glue'l  be  dry  to- 
morrer  ebenin'.  so  ef  you  comes  long  den,  I  reckon 
she'll  see  you.  Ob  cose  I'se  goin'  to  do  de  bes'  I  kin 
fer  her  but  I  don'  believe  in  dat  wig.  De  nex'  thing 
she  knows  it'll  bus'  somewhars  else  an'  she'll  have  to 


1/4  A  House  Party 

take  to  wearin'  caps  wid  little  fronts  sewed  in  over 
her  for'ad." 

For  a  moment,  Mr.  Hobson  Baldwin  did  not 
speak,  then  he  asked  "  What  was  that  you  said  about 
teeth,  Aunt  Nancy  ?  Mrs.  Spence  certainly  has  very 
fine  teeth." 

"  Indeed  she  has,"  said  she  proudly,  "  she's  got  de 
very  bes'  an'  bein'  able  to  'ford  it  she  wouldn't  have 
no  udders.  Only  las'  fall  she  sont  'em  down  to 
Richmond — bein'  better  able  to  spar  'em  den.  den 
any  udder  time  ob  de  yar  der  bein'  so  many  soft 
vegetables — an'  had  'em  all  screwed  up  an'  polished." 

Mr.  Baldwin  turned  his  horse's  head.  "  If  Mrs. 
Spence  is  engaged,"  he  said,  "  there'll  be  no  use  of 
my  going  up  to  the  house." 

"  Ole  Miss'll  be  mighty  sorry  to  hear  you'se  been 
here  an'  not  come  in  but  ef  you  come  to-morrer 
ebenin,  suh,  I  reckon  de  glue'll  be  all  dry.  But  I  hope 
suh,  dat  you  won'  tell  Ole  Miss " 

But  Mr.  Hobson  Baldwin  did  not  stay  to  hear  the 
rest  of  the  remark.  He  had  no  further  business  at 
that  house,  and  he  had  put  on  his  Sunday  clothes 
for  nothing. 

It  is  astonishing  how  a  man  may  sometimes  see 
through  a  little  crack  in  the  wall  the  untoward  things 
which  lie  upon  the  other  side.  Mr.  Hobson  Baldwin 
thanked  his  stars  for  the  happy  chance  which  enabled 
him  to  put  his  eye  to  that  crack. 

"  Aunt  Nancy,"  said  Mrs.  Spence,  when  the  old 
woman  had  returned  from  her  cabin  with  the  flat- 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  175 

iron  she  had  been  sent  for,  "  did  I  see  you  talking  to 
somebody  on  horseback?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Ole  Miss,"  said  Aunt  Nancy,  "  dat  wuz 
ole  Mr.  Hobson  Baldwin.  He  come  to  borry  a  glue 
pot.  I  done  tole  him  we  didn't  have  none,  not  doin' 
our  own  carpenter  work.  An'  he  said  he  wuz  mighty 
sorry  for  he  wuz  goin'  to  Richmond  to-morrer  an' 
he  done  bus'  his  wig.  An'  I  tole  him  dat  glue  wa'nt 
no  good  to  men'  a  wig  wid  an'  he'd  better  buy  a  new 
one,  but  he  said  he'd  wo'  dat  ole  one  so  long  he'd 
kinder  got  used  to  it.  So  he  said  he'd  ride  on  to 
Mr.  Montgomery  Harris's  an'  see  ef  he'd  got  a  glue 
pot  dar.  I  ax  him  to  come  in  an'  res'  hisself  but  he 
said  he  couldn't  stop  anywhar  whar  he'd  hafter  take 
off  his  hat." 

"  I  didn't  believe  Mr.  Hobson  Baldwin  was  so 
foolish  as  that,"  said  Mrs.  Spence.  "  I  always  sup 
posed  he  wore  his  own  hair.  But  if  he  is  bald  he 
must  be  a  very  silly  old  man  to  try  to  hide  it.  I'd 
always  thought  better  of  Mr.  Hobson  Baldwin  than 
that." 

Mrs.  Spence  never  said  anything  about  the  un 
fortunate  vanity  of  her  old  neighbour,  but  he  was 
not  so  reticent  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  talk 
about  the  "  busted  "  wig  that  Aunt  Nancy  was  going 
to  try  to  mend  with  the  glue  pot. 

People  came  to  the  house  as  they  always  had  done,- 
sometimes  in  their  Sunday  clothes  and  sometimes  in 
ordinary  apparel,  and  very  often,  when  they  hap 
pened  to  be  women,  they  cast  sharp  eyes  upon  Mrs. 


176  A  House  Party 

Spence's  neatly  parted  hair  and  wondered  how  old 
Aunt  Nancy  and  her  mistress  could  have  made  such 
a  very  good  job  with  the  glue  pot. 

Aunt  Nancy  saw  no  more  elderly  gentlemen  in 
their  Sunday  clothes  come  riding  toward  the  house. 
The  great  fear  that  "  Ole  Miss  "  might  renounce  her 
widowhood  passed  from  the  old  woman. 

And  now  great  peace  settled  down  upon  that 
household.  The  two  female  relatives  died  and  were 
buried,  and  two  younger  persons  took  their  places. 
Aunt  Nancy  never  ceased  her  watchful  vigilance;  the 
lower  pie-crust  of  pies  was  never  seen  in  that  house, 
and  husbands  were  un thought  of.  Year  after  year 
kept  rolling  on,  and  the  Annuity  people  in  Rich 
mond  began  to  talk  a  good  deal  about  the  old  lady  in 
the  lower  part  of  the  State.  They  said  to  each  other 
that  she  must  have  an  extraordinarily  good  hold  on 
life. — But  then,  of  course,  they  knew  nothing  about 
Aunt  Nancy. 

More  years  passed  on.  Mrs.  Spence  continued  ac 
tive  with  a  good  appetite  and  Aunt  Nancy  continued 
vigilant,  although  not  quite  so  vigilant  as  she  had 
been,  for  the  reason  that  her  mistress  had  become  so 
well  trained  in  regard  to  sanitary  methods  that  she 
became  very  easy  to  manage. 

At  last,  at  the  age  of  ninety-three,  she  died  and 
her  annuity  stopped. 

After  the  funeral,  Aunt  Nancy  removed  back  to 
her  old  cabin.  She  liked  it  better  there,  and  her 
duty  at  the  big  house  was  done.  The  new  owner  of 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  177 

the  place — one  of  the  younger  relatives  now  mar 
ried — was  very  kind  to  the  old  woman  who  was 
entirely  satisfied  except  in  one  respect.  What  she 
called  her  annuity  had  also  stopped.  This,  accord 
ing  to  Aunt  Nancy,  was  a  perversion  of  the  natural 
order  of  things.  Her  income  had  ceased  to  be,  and 
she  had  not. 

One  day  there  came  from  Richmond,  two  legal 
gentlemen  to  attend  to  some  business  regarding  the 
property.  Aunt  Nancy  knew  who  they  were  and  she 
knew  what  they  had  come  for,  and  her  eyes  twinkled 
with  an  eager  interest  as  she  sat  in  front  of  her 
cabin  and  watched  the  doorway  through  which  they 
entered  the  house.  Her  rheumatism  had  come  upon 
her  again,  now  that  there  was  no  reason  for  its 
being  ignored,  but  it  did  not  prevent  her  from  walk 
ing  as  far  as  she  wanted  to  walk,  and  when  the 
gentlemen  came  out  after  dinner  to  smoke  their 
cigars  on  the  piazza,  they  found  Aunt  Nancy  there 
waiting  for  them. 

The  old  woman  made  a  deferential  courtesy.  She 
would  not  allow  her  rheumatism  to  interfere  with 
her  manners. 

"  Mornin',  Mr.  Scott,"  she  said,  "  Mornin'  Mr. 
Wilson  Green." 

"  Fse  come  to  see  you  gemmen  on  business." 

They  looked  with  surprise  upon  the  tall  old 
woman  supporting  herself  by  a  long  staff;  her  black 
and  shrunken  face;  her  keen,  bright  eyes,  shining 
in  their  deep  sockets,  and  they  told  her  to  sit  down 


178  A  House  Party 

upon  a  bench  and  say  what  she  wanted.  But  she 
declined  the  civility. 

"  Scuse  me,  gemmen,"  she  said,  "  but  it's  a  good 
deal  harder  to  git  up  dan  to  stay  up,  an'  I'se  been 
waitin'  on  Ole  Miss  Spence  putty  nigh  all  my  life, 
an'  knows  better." 

"Very  well  then,"  said  Mr.  Scott,  "what  is 
it?" 

"  Gemmen,"  said  she,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other  as  if  in  doubt  as  to  which  was  the  leading 
spirit,  "  I  wants  a  'nuity." 

They  smiled,  and  looked  at  each  other.  "  It  seems 
to  me,"  said  Mr.  Wilson  Green,  "  that  you  are  a  little 
past  that  sort  of  thing.  Do  you  know  anything 
about  annuities  ?  " 

"  Deed  I  does,"  said  Aunt  Nancy,  with  an  em 
phatic  nod  of  her  head.  "  I  libed  under  de  blessins 
ob  one  for  twenty-two  year,  an'  now  it  is  done 
stopped." 

"  And  you're  still  living?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Wilson 
Green. 

"  Taint  my  'nuity,"  said  Aunt  Nancy,  "  It  war  Ole 
Miss',  but  I  libed  under  its  blessins  all  de  same. 
Ebery  time  her  money  come  in  she  gib  me  jes'  so 
much,  year  in  an'  year  out,  jes'  so  much  ebery  time 
her  money  come  in  an'  now  she  dead  an'  her  'nuity 
stopped  an'  I  wan's  'nuity  ob  my  own.  Ole  Miss' 
'nuity  las'  jes'  as  long  as  she  lib,  an'  I  wan's  one  to 
las'  as  long  as  I  lib." 

The  two  lawyers  were  greatly  interested  as  well 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  179 

as  amused.  "  How  old  are  you,  Aunty?"  asked 
Mr.  Scott. 

"  I'se  ninety-one  years  ole  nex'  February,  full  ob 
de  moon.  I  know  dat's  right  fer  my  ol'  mammy  tole 
me  I  wuz  bo'n  February  full  ob  de  moon;  an'  my 
ole  Missus  tole  me  dat  she  wuz  jes'  two  year  older  dan 
me,  an'  she  wuz  ninety-three  when  'nuity  stopped. 
So  dar  I've  got  it  all  straight — ninety-one  years 
ole  nex'  February  at  de  full  ob  de  moon.  I  spose 
you  wan'ter  put  dat  down  in  de  papers,  gemmen  so 
I've  done  gib  it  you  all  straight." 

"  Aunty,"  said  Mr.  Scott,  "  I  think  you  will  have 
to  give  up  your  little  scheme.  Annuities  are  not 
taken  out  by  people  as  old  as  you  are.  At  ninety-one 
no  one  would  be  expected  to  live  long  enough  to  get 
any  good  out  of  an  annuity.  If  you  have  any  money 
saved  up  that  you  are  thinking  of  investing  in  that 
way,  you  had  better  keep  it  and  make  yourself  com 
fortable  with  it.  It  would  likely  do  you  more  good 
that  way  than  if  you  handed  it  over  to  an  Annuity 
Company,  which  you  couldn't  do  anyway,  for  they 
wouldn't  take  it." 

Aunt  Nancy's  eyes  now  began  to  sparkle  and  her 
manner  was  not  quite  so  respectful  as  it  had  been. 
"  Money  saved  up ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Who  said  any 
thing  about  money  saved  up  ?  Dat's  got  nuffin  to  do 
wid  anything.  Gemmen,"  she  continued  rapidly  as 
if  wishing  to  change  the  subject,  "  I'se  got  here  some 
family  silber  an'  I  wan's  to  sell  it  an'  buy  a  'nuity." 

With  this  she  put  her  hand  into  a  deep  pocket  in 


180  A  House  Party 

her  skirt,  and  pulled  out  a  brightly  polished  silver 
spoon.  "  Dar  dat  spoon,  gemmen,"  said  she,  "  Dat's 
part  ob  de  ole  family  silber.  When  Ole  Miss  an'  me 
took  dat  silber  from  whar  we  done  put  it  dar  wuz 
one  dozen  ob  dem  spoons,  but  when  she  sold  her  sil 
ber  dar  wuz  on'y  'leben.  It  did  break  my  heart  to  see 
all  dat  silber  go  wot  had  been  in  de  family  so  long, 
an'  so  dis  one,  it  didn'  go." 

One  of  the  lawyers  was  about  to  say  something 
but  the  other  checked  him. 

"  Yes,  gemmen,"  continued  the  old  woman,  "  dis 
one  stay  behind  fer  de  sake  ob  de  family.  Dar  wa'nt 
nobody  in  dis  worl'  could  come  here  an'  say  dar 
wa'nt  no  family  silber  in  dis  house.  When  Ole  Miss 
die  she  lef  dat  spoon  to  me." 

"  Did  she  leave  it  in  her  will?  "  asked  Mr.  Scott. 

Aunt  Nancy  looked  at  him  sternly.  "  I  didn't  say 
nuffin  'bout  no  will.  She  jes  lef  it  to  me.  She 
didn't  take  it  'way  wid  her,  did  she?  Ef  I'd  died 
afore  she  had  I'd  a  lef  it  to  her.  But  she  died  fust 
an'  she  lef  it  to  me.  Now  you  see,  gemmen," 
Aunt  Nancy  continued,  not  wishing  further  inter 
ruptions,  "  I  wants  to  sell  dis  spoon  an'  buy  a  'nuity 
which  will  come  in  reg'lar,  click,  click,  like  a  clock, 
as  long  as  I  lib,  an'  den  it  kin  stop." 

"  Aunty,"  said  Mr.  Wilson  Green,  as  he  took  the 
spoon  in  his  hand  and  looked  at  it,  "how  much 
longer  do  you  expect  to  live?  " 

She  looked  at  him  earnestly.  "  I  reckon  I'll  lib  as 
long  as  Ole  Miss." 


Au;:t  Nancy's  Annuity  181 

"  That  will  be  two  years  longer  then,"  remarked 
Air.  Wilson  Green. 

'  Yes,  suh,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  I  reckon  dat's 
right — 'bout  two  years  mo' — same  as  Ole  Miss. 
Now  Mr.  Wilson  Green  an'  Mr.  Scott  ef  you'se 
willin*  to  make  glad  de  soul  ob  a  po'  ole  woman  you 
take  dat  spoon  wid  you  to  Richmond  an'  sell  it  dar 
an'  buy  me  a  'nuity."  And  as  she  spoke  she  ex 
tended  the  spoon  towards  them. 

Mr.  Scott  took  it  and  weighed  it  in  his  hand.  "  It 
is  a  good  heavy  spoon,"  he  said,  "  but,  Aunty,  no 
matter  how  old  you  might  be,  you  couldn't  sell  it  for 
enough  to  buy  an  annuity.'' 

Aunt  Nancy  made  no  reply,  but  her  staff  slightly 
shook  and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  know  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Wilson  Green 
taking  the  spoon.  "  This  is  a  very  heavy  spoon.  It 
seems  to  me  that  we  might  take  it  to  Richmond  and 
see  what  we  could  do.  "  Of  course,"  he  said  ad 
dressing  Aunt  Nancy,  "  if  we  should  get  you  an 
annuity  it  would  be  a  very  little  one.  Would  that 
satisfy  you?  " 

The  old  woman  turned  towards  him  and  clasped 
her  staff  in  her  two  hands.  "  It  aint  de  little  Fse 
thinkin'  'bout,  Mr.  Wilson  Green,"  said  she,  "  it's  de 
reg'lar.  I  don'  min'  its  bein'  little  ef  it  comes  in 
click,  click  like  a  clock,  month  in  an'  month  out, 
year  in  an'  year  out,  till  I  stops  an'  it  stops.  An' 
dat  will  be  de  en'  ob  de  family  silber." 

When  that  tablespoon  went  to  Richmond  it  was 


1 82  A  House  Party 

talked  about  a  good  deal,  and  laughed  about  a  good 
deal,  and  pooh-poohed  a  good  deal  when  Mr.  Wilson 
Green  attempted  to  talk  seriously  about  it,  but  he 
was  persistent  and  at  last  the  spoon  was  sold  and  the 
annuity  was  granted.  Partly  because  nobody 
wanted  to  darken  the  last  days  of  a  poor  old  woman, 
and  partly  because,  the  transaction  would  be  a  curi 
osity  in  the  annals  of  the  business  as  the  smallest 
annuity,  and  the  oldest  annuitant  ever  known. 

No  considerations  of  charity  were  allowed  to  enter 
into  this  transaction,  for  that  would  have  spoiled  its 
distinctive  character,  and  taken  away  its  point.  It 
was  made,  as  Aunt  Nancy  wished  it  to  be,  a  strictly 
business  matter. 

Month  after  month  passed  on,  and  year  after  year, 
and  steadily  and  regularly  Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity 
came  in,  click,  click  like  a  clock.  It  was  very  little, 
but  it  was  regular,  and  the  old  woman  was  happy. 

It  was  about  two  years  after  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Spence,  when  there  came  to  Aunt  Nancy's  cabin  the 
lady  to  whom  the  property  now  belonged.  The  old 
woman — now  very  old — blacker  than  ever  and  more 
wrinkled  and  thinner,  called  out  to  her  visitor  before 
she  had  reached  the  cabin  door. 

"  Mornin'  Miss  Ca'line,  I'se  mighty  glad  to  see 
you,  Fs  got  sompin'  to  tell  you.  You'se  been  mighty 
kind  to  me,  Miss  Ca'line — not  so  kind  as  Ole  Miss 
case  dat  wa'nt  to  be  'spected,  you  not  bein'  Ole  Miss 
— but  mighty  kind,  specially  'bout  white  sugar  an' 
sof  bread.  Now  I  wan's  to  tell  you,  Miss  Ca'line,  dat 


Aunt  Nancy's  Annuity  183 

dat  ar  'nuity  ob  mine  is  gwine  to  run  out  purty  soon, 
I  feels  dat  in  my  bones,  specially  in  de  leg  bones,  an' 
when  dat  ar  'nuity  runs  out,  Miss  Ca'line,  I  wan's 
you  to  hab  de  spoon.  You'se  been  mighty  good  to 
me  an'  you'se  de  one  dat  oughter  hab  dat 
spoon." 

"  But,  Aunt  Nancy,"  said  the  other  in  surprise, 
"  the  spoon  isn't  yours  to  give,  you  parted  with  it 
when  you  bought  your  annuity." 

"  But  when  Fse  dead,"  said  the  old  woman,  her 
eyes  twinkling,  "  I  reckon  dat  ar  'nuity'll  stop.  Aint 
dat  so?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Miss  Caroline,  "of  course  it'll 
stop  but " 

"  Well  den,"  interrupted  Aunt  Nancy,  "  no  'nuity, 
no  spoon.  Dey  mus'  be  mighty  no  'count  folks  ef  dey 
'spects  to  pay  no  money  an  keep  de  spoon." 

Miss  Caroline  attempted  to  explain,  and  even  be 
gan  to  cite  the  case  of  Mrs.  Spence,  whose  silver 
had  not  come  back  when  she  died,  but  it  was  all  of 
no  use,  Aunt  Nancy  would  not  listen  to  such  fallacies. 

"  No  'nuity,  no  spoon,"  said  she,  "  an'  on  'count  ob 
de  white  sugar,  an'  de  sof  bread'  an'  I  done  forgot 
de  sassage,  de  spoon  is  yourn.'' 

A  few  weeks  later  there  came  to  Miss  Caroline,  a 
package  from  Richmond,  secured  after  considerable 
expense  and  many  solicitations,  and  with  it  in  her 
hand  the  good  lady  went  over  to  Aunt  Nancy's  cabin. 

"  Is  dat  de  spoon?  "  asked  Aunt  Nancy,  from  her 
bed,  when  the  wrappings  had  been  removed. 


184  A  House  Party 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Caroline,  "  this  is  the  spoon." 

"  Dem  dar  folks  in  Richmond  mus'  be  mighty 
hones',"  said  the  old  woman,  taking  the  spoon  in 
her  hand  and  gazing  upon  it  with  all  the  interest  in 
life  which  was  left  to  her.  "  Dey's  sent  it  back  fo' 
dey's  bleegd  to."  Then  she  gazed  upon  it  a  little 
longer.  "  Lor'  bless  my  soul,"  she  said,  "  how 
Brown  Sal  mus'  bin  disgruntled  at  knowin'  dat  ar 
spoon  an'  all  de  res'  ob  de  silber  wuz  close  up  ginst 
her  an'  she  not  able  to  make  no  use  ob  none  ob  it." 

A  few  days  after  this,  Aunt  Nancy's  annuity 
ceased.  She  was  buried  in  a  better  place  than  the 
crowded  graveyard  where  Uncle  Abraham  and 
Brown  Sal  rested,  and  over  the  mantelpiece  of  the 
"  big  house  "  there  hung,  as  her  memorial,  the  old- 
fashioned  spoon  which  had  brought  her  her  annuity. 

"  Now  I  want  Mr.  Wickam  to  tell  us  a  story,"  an 
nounced  Mrs.  Goddard,  not  even  leaving  a  moment 
for  comment  on  her  husband's  tale. 

Silence. 

"Where  are  you,  Mr.  Wickam?"  she  went  on, 
when  there  was  no  response. 

"  I  think  he's  gone,"  explained  a  man.  "  I  heard 
some  one  back  of  me  steal  away  just  a  minute 
before  Mr.  Goddard  ended,  and  I  suppose  it  was 
he." 

"  How  mean  of  him !  "  cried  the  hostess.  "  Our 
one  real  author,  upon  whom  I  was  counting,  and  for 
him  to  desert  us." 

"  It  was  probably  jealousy,"  suggested  Harold. 


Aunt  Nancy 's  Annuity  185 

"  Or  perhaps  he  wanted  to  jot  down  a  few  of  our 
ideas  for  future  use.  Don't  flatter  him  by  letting 
him  know  that  he  was  missed.  Here's  Bowden 
itching  to  tell  the  story,  I've  watched  him  concoct 
ing  for  the  last  fifteen  seconds." 

"  All  right,  old  chap,"  acceded  the  person  ad 
dressed.  "  You  told  us  a  lie  we  all  believed ;  now 
I'll  tell  you  a  true  story  that  not  one  of  you  will. 
Understand,  I  don't  attempt  to  explain  it.  I  will 
call  the  story  THE  MESSENGER." 


THE  MESSENGER 

**T DON'T  know  whether  there  are  such  things 
I  as  supernatural  beings — who  does  know? 
But  I  know  of  one  queer  experience.  Some 
of  you  remember  Guy  Thurston.  He  was  at  the 
same  school  with  me,  when  I  was  a  boy.  It  was 
there  his  wonderful  voice  first  attracted  attention. 
He  wasn't  a  bit  the  sort  of  a  fellow  you  would  have 
given  a  lovely,  heart-breaking,  ethereal  sort  of  voice 
to,  you  know;  not  he;  he  was  a  stolid  looking,  big, 
muscular  football  player  with  a  kind  of  dogged  ap 
plication,  either  in  games  or  study  which  made  up 
for  his  being  none  too  nimble  with  his  wits.  He 
did  have  horse  sense,  however ;  and  I  always  remem 
ber  the  speech  he  made  to  the  sixth  form  (we  were 
painfully  English  in  our  school,  when  we  weren't 
painfully  military)  the  time  we  all  got  expelled  ex 
cept  him.  You  see  it  came  about  in  this  fashion. 
Three  of  the  most  popular  boys  were  expelled  for 
going  out  of  bounds  to  a  little  town  near  by,  where 
we  had  always  been  allowed  to  go;  but  for  some 
reason  the  orders  went  out  that  we  must  not  go 
any  more,  liberty  had  been  abused  and  that  sort  of 
thing ;  and  there  was  a  new  master  who  didn't  under 
stand  boys;  and  in  short  there  was  a  silly  and  un 
necessary  mess,  and  the  hot  heads  got  excited.  The 
three  boys  who  disobeyed  were  leaders,  and  it  was 
felt  that  the  punishment  was  disproportionate  to  the 

186 


The  Messenger  187 

offence.  Boys  always  think  that,  you  know.  We 
held  an  indignation  meeting  and  thought  ourselves 
mighty  fine  when  we  determined  to  have  the  entire 
sixth  form  go  in  a  body.  The  Head-master  never 
would  dare,  we  reasoned,  expel  the  whole  sixth  only 
a  month  before  commencement ;  and  if  we  petitioned 
later  for  the  other  three  fellows'  reinstatement,  we 
might  get  it ;  anyhow  we  were  to  send  in  a  petition, 
and  should  it  be  refused  we  were  all  to  go.  We  had 
the  meeting.  I.  wasn't  very  keen;  but  I  followed 
the  pack.  There  was  a  lot  of  fiery  speeches  which 
we  thought  tremendous.  Finally,  Guy  got  up.  He 
was  so  quiet  that  he  wasn't  particularly  popular; 
and  he  was  a  shy  fellow,  always.  I  hadn't  noticed 
him  particularly  until  that  day;  but  I  looked  at  him 
with  a  certain  kind  of  interest;  he  was  so  pale. 
Stupid  as  boys  are  in  some  ways  and  too  busy  with 
their  own  concerns  to  pay  attention  to  other  fellows' 
troubles,  his  looks  caught  my  attention.  His  black 
hair  was  matted  on  his  forehead  and  his  eyes  slanted 
under  his  knitted  brows  with  a  queer  dogged  look. 
As  he  began  his  voice  was  not  quite  round  and  full ; 
he  seemed  to  be  steadying  it  by  his  will.  But  before 
he  finished  every  word  was  loud  and  clear  and  rang 
through  the  room.  He  told  the  boys  in  plain  Eng 
lish  that  they  were  making  fools  of  themselves,  the 
Doctor  never  would  give  in ;  and  they  would  be  ex 
pelled  as  surely  as  the  sun  would  shine  next  morn 
ing;  and  whether  the  Doctor  was  right  or  wrong 
they  couldn't  afford  to  be  expelled.  Their  fathers 


1 88  A  House  Party 

wouldn't  see  the  matter  as  they  did,  they  needn't 
think  it;  and  their  mothers  would  cry  and  there 
would  be  a  lot  of  trouble.  Well,  one  or  two  of  the 
boys  weakened  a  bit  at  that;  I  did,  myself;  I  knew 
that  my  father  would  be  furious.  He  was.  But 
Guy  was  only  one,  and  the  others  didn't  make  much 
of  a  move  for  him.  I  cracked  a  few  jokes  about 
how  nasty  our  governors  could  be;  and  advised  the 
fellows  to  go  slow;  but  the  current  ran  the  other 
way.  The  end  was  that  we  defied  the  Head  and 
went  off  on  the  meekest  and  stupidest  little  bat  you 
ever  saw — simply  drove  out  to  the  town  and  drove 
back.  Guy  wouldn't  go  with  us.  I  did  go.  "  You 
fellows  are  making  crazy  looneys  of  yourselves,  and 
putting  us  all  into  a  hole,"  I  grumbled,  "  but  I'm 
not  going  back  on  you."  That  was  my  notion  of 
honour,  you  understand.  What  idiots  boys  can  be ! 
When  the  boys  came  back,  however,  it  wasn't  so 
funny.  The  Head  was  standing  in  the  street  and  we 
came  upon  him.  He  was  a  big  man  who  used  to 
stand  with  his  legs  a  little  apart  and  his  head  well 
back  on  his  neck.  He  was  a  stern  looking  fellow, 
but  the  sixth  was  his  pet;  and  there  was  always  a 
kind  of  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  acknowledged  our 
salutes.  To-day,  he  looked  at  us  with  an  inscrutable 
I  almost  thought  sorrowful  face.  It  was  horribly 
embarrassing  to  meet  him;  but  first,  two  or  three, 
then  all  of  us  lifted  our  caps ;  he  lifted  his  black  silk 
hat,  none  too  well  brushed  and  shining — he  was  a 
bit  careless  in  his  dress.  The  wind  blew  his  grey 


The  Messenger  189 

liairs  about ;  and  something"  smote  on  my  hard  boy 
ish  heart;  I  had  the  faintest  glimmer  of  the  cruelty 
of  our  action.  After  all,  we  were  trying  to  drive 
the  old  boy  into  a  brutal  mean  hole,  where  he  must 
either  go  back  on  his  word  and  he  was  a  staunch 
keeper  of  his  word,  even  to  his  own  hurt,  or  lose 
his  whole  graduating  class  and  get  a  beastly  lot  of 
criticism  for  depriving  the  school  of  so  much 
revenue,  and  mortifying  it  before  the  world.  But 
you  may  be  sure  I  didn't  lisp  a  word  of  my  feelings. 
Guy  was  standing  in  the  quadrangle,  when  we  drove 
up  in  arrant  defiance  of  all  the  rules.  Not  one  of 
us  noticed  him;  he  gave  us  a  military  salute.  Not 
even  Tom  Derby,  his  roommate,  or  Ellerton,  his 
closest  chum,  returned  it.  Guy's  face  went  white; 
and  then,  in  a  flash,  I  remembered  that  I  believed 
in  our  folly  as  well  as  he,  although  I  had  succumbed 
to  the  wills  of  the  foolish  and  thrown  my  lot  in  with 
theirs;  of  a  sudden  it  was  clear  to  me,  whatever 
Guy's  motive,  he  had  not  opposed  us  or  drawn  away 
from  us  because  he  was  a  milksop  who  wanted  to 
curry  favour.  For  that  matter  I  doubt  whether  the 
Doctor,  himself,  didn't  secretly  despise  Guy's  loyalty. 
But  in  that  second,  seeing  Guy's  white,  miserable 
face,  I  didn't;  and,  on  the  impulse  I  made  a  salute. 
Guy  made  no  response,  unless  a  quiver  of  his  mouth 
and  a  single  glance  could  be  a  response.  He  walked 
away  with  his  shoulders  up,  stiff  and  military.  That 
evening,  the  class  was  expelled — except  Guy 
Thurston.  There  was  excitement  in  plenty,  then. 


190  A  House  Party 

The  boys  were  very  haughty,  at  first ;  but  after  they 
changed  the  heated  school  atmosphere  for  the  chill 
of  conservative  homes;  and  had  seen  their  unen- 
thusiastic  fathers,  they  grew  milder;  in  the  end, 
they  very  willingly  signed  a  humble  request  and 
apology.  But  it  was  no  use;  the  doctor  was  inflex 
ible.  I  as  an  original  opposer  of  the  rebellion  was 
sent  with  the  petition.  Thus,  it  was,  I  saw  Guy, 
again,  he  looked  ill  and  haggard.  I  knew  that  he 
had  been  requested  to  resign  from  the  football  eleven 
and  that  the  school  had  sent  him  to  Coventry ;  it  was 
their  only  way  to  show  sympathy;  and  they  showed 
it  with  vigour.  I  believe,  this  time,  it  was  only  the 
memory  that  I  had  committed  myself  to  recognising 
Guy,  already,  which  made  me  bow  to  him.  On  his 
part,  his  face  flushed  all  over  and  he  caught  at  my 
proffered  hand  with  a  sob.  "  I  tried  to  see  you  and 
say  good-bye  to  you,"  said  he,  "  but  you'd  gone. 
I — I  had  a  jolly  big  basket  of  oranges  come  to  me 
and  I  thought  you  might  like  to  have  them  on  the 
way,  you  and  the  other  fellows." 

"  I  think  we  felt  too  mad  and  too  rocky  to  care 
much  for  oranges,"  I  said  ungraciously,  "  we 
weren't  going  back  to  any  picnic.  It  was  a  circus 
in  my  case !  " 

"  And  I  was  wishing  I  could  go  with  you.  Oh 
Lord,  how  I  wanted  to  be  on  that  train !  " 

"Why  weren't  you,  then?"  I  said,  still  pretty 
stiffly,  "  you  weren't  any  more  opposed  to  all  that 
rot  than  I  was !  " 


The  Messenger  191 

Guy  caught  his  breath ;  "  Would  you  like  me  to 
tell  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  would.  I  know  you're  a  straight  fe4- 
low  " — I  was  veering  to  sympathy  again — "  and 
you  never  seemed  to  be  stuck  on  getting  merit  marks 
or  being  a  pet  with  the  faculty — " 

Guy  used  some  strong  and  improper  expressions 
about  the  faculty. 

"Well,  what  was  it?  " 

"  I  promised  my  mother." 

I  studied  his  face  and  his  downcast  eyes.  I  dimly 
remembered  that  the  boys  made  fun  of  Guy  not  so 
much  because  his  mother  wrote  him  almost  every 
day,  which  although  queer,  when  a  boy  was  not  a 
new  boy  being  hazed  nearly  to  death  and  crying 
with  homesickness  when  after  he  thought  the  other 
boys  were  asleep  and  couldn't  hear  him,  was  still 
not  reprehensible;  but  because  Guy  wrote  quite  as 
often  to  her.  Remarks  had  been  made;  and  Guy 
had  pounded  the  wit  of  the  school  so  that  the  wit 
wasn't  able  to  go  to  recitations  the  next  day;  and 
Guy  had  to  walk  guard  for  three  days.  I  also  re 
membered  that  Guy's  father  was  dead  and  he  was 
his  mother's  only  child;  and  that  his  uncle  paid  for 
his  schooling.  I  was  not  yet  sure  that  Guy  was 
justified  according  to  schoolboy  ethics,  but  I  was  less 
sure  that  he  was  guilty.  "  Oh,  that  was  it,  was  it  ?  " 
I  muttered,  "  but  how  did  she  know  anything  about 
it?" 

"  Would  you  mind  sitting  down  here  with  me  ?  " 


192  A  House  Party 

said  Guy.  "  Some  of  the  boys  were  ogling  us  curi 
ously;  but  I  was  too  sore  over  the  scrape  I  was  in 
and  the  crowd  of  them  for  egging  us  into  it,  to  mine 
whether  they  liked  my  conduct  or  not;  and  I  in 
clined  more  to  Guy,  every  minute.  So  I  stuck  m) 
arm  into  his  and  led  him  to  a  seat  by  the  chapel,  anc 
a  bird  was  singing  on  a  maple  tree  and  the  shadows 
of  the  graceful  branches  wavered  on  the  grass  as  w< 
talked. 

He  told  me  a  good  deal  in  a  few  straggling,  curi 
sentences,  such  as  boys  use  when  they  are  movec 
and  bound  not  to  show  it.  His  mother,  and  he  wen 
poor ;  a  naval  officer  doesn't  leave  much  of  a  fortune 
life  insurance  is  frightfully  high  with  their  risks 
The  uncle  was  not  rich;  but  he  was  educating  Gu} 
who  would  try  for  West  Point  after  he  was  gradu 
ated.  Then  he  would  be  provided  for.  His  mothei 
was  anxious  to  have  him  graduate.  He  had  writter 
her  about  the  feeling  in  school;  and  she  had  in 
stantly  answered  begging  him  not  to  risk  his  future 
and  disappoint  his  uncle  who  would  surely  considei 
him  ungrateful ;  by  any  conflict  with  the  authori 
ties.  She  had  besides,  a  naval  officer's  notions  oi 
the  duty  of  obedience  without  question ;  she  was 
shocked  at  the  idea  of  rebellion.  "  And  it  isn't  only 
that,"  said  Guy  bracing  himself  and  looking  at  his 
shoes ;  "  my  mother — my  mother  has  got  something 
the  matter  with  her  and — and  she  can't  get  well." 

"  O !  "  said  I ;  and  blushed  to  my  eyes  and  found 
no  other  expression  of  sympathy  for  my  tongue. 


The  Messenger  193 

"  I've  got  to  do  what  she  wants,"  said  Guy  be 
tween  his  teeth,  "  I've  got  to." 

"  Of  course,"  I  stammered.  I  understood,  now, 
why  he  had  so  much  better  marks  this  year  and 
never  went  into  town  on  Wednesday  afternoons. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  didn't  want  to  get  fired  and 
be  free  to  be  going  back  to  her?  "  he  burst  out  in  a 
suffocated  voice,  "  she  don't  know  I  heard  the  doc 
tors  talking;  she's  keeping  it  from  me  and  keeping 
me  away  from  her  when  she  wants — she  wants — 
she's  doing  it  so  I  shall  have  a  happy  time  a  little 
longer  and  not  be  distracted  from  my  studies;  and 
I — I  know  what  she's  set  her  heart  on  and  I  pre 
tend,  too."  He  threw  his  arm  over  his  convulsed 
face;  I  threw  my  arm  about  his  neck.  "Did  you 
— did  you  know  my  mother  was  dead  ?  "  I  stam 
mered;  and  my  voice  broke  too.  We  both  of  us 
jumped  up  and  walked  until  we  got  ourselves  in 
hand.  Well,  that  was  how  Guy  and  I  found  each 
other.  We  have  stuck  to  each  other  ever  since.  I 
remember,  that  next  morning  (which  was  Sunday) 
I  heard  Guy  sing  in  chapel.  There  was  a  stranger 
in  church;  I  overheard  him  whisper  to  the  com 
mandant,  "  It's  wonderful",  wonderful."  "  Yes, 
rather  remarkable  voice,  isn't  it,"  said  the  com 
mandant.  "  A  marvellous  voice,"  said  the  stranger, 
"but  that's  not  the  wonder;  that  lad  can't  have 
lived;  where  did  he  get  that  heartbreak  in  his 
voice1." 

Poor  Guy,  I  knew. 


194  A  House  Party 

Well,  I  went  away,  unsuccessful;  for  the  sturdy 
old  Doctor  never  weakened;  and  I  had  to  go  to 
Harvard  instead  of  Yale  (which,  of  course  was  a 
blessing  in  disguise!)  I  wrote  to  Guy  and  he  to 
me  in  the  infrequent  fashion  of  boys.  One  day,  I 
got  a  paper  with  the  notice  of  his  mother's  death.  I 
thought  of  him  all  day.  When  I  woke  up  in  the  night 
I  thought  of  him ;  and  I  remembered  the  desolate  be 
wilderment  of  my  own  childhood  after  my  mother 
died.  I  wrote  him  a  letter  and  tore  it  up  when  I 
read  the  first  sentence.  Finally,  I  went  to  see  him. 
I  felt  like  turning  back  at  the  dreary  little  station 
of  his  town ;  the  drearier  for  that  winter's  smoulder 
ing  sunset  in  the  faded  sky  and  the  snow  masking 
the  hills  and  creaking  under  the  sledge  runners.  But 
I  climbed  into  one  of  the  sledges  and  went  to  the 
inn  (which  was  not  an  encouragement  to  the  sacri 
fices  of  friendship)  hunted  a  guide  to  his  uncle's 
house  and  found  Guy. 

I  had  to  fish  my  will  out  of  my  nerves  before  I 
could  look  at  him;  then,  he  seemed  to  me  years 
older;  but  he  grasped  both  my  hands  and  wrung 
them.  I  had  seen  his  mother,  you  know ;  he  wanted 
me  to  come  down  to  them  and  I  did  come.  When 
I  saw  her  I  understood  Guy's  feelings.  It  wasn't  so 
much  that  she  was  beautiful,  she  wasn't  that  per 
haps,  only  of  an  amazingly  sweet  expression  and 
voice  and  with  an  exquisite  grace  of  bearing  but  she 
had  a  sympathy,  a  freshness,  an  interest  in  every 
thing  that  thrilled  you  in  a  doomed  creature  like 


The  Messenger  195 

her.  I  never  saw  anyone  so  alive.  Partly  it  was 
her  sense  of  humour,  in  her  a  bewitching  quality 
for  it  played  about  every  subject  she  touched;  and 
there  is  nothing  so  alive  as  humour.  I  would  laugh 
and  catch  myself  up  in  my  laugh  with  a  pang.  It 
seemed  hideous  that  so  generous  and  bright  and 
happy  a  nature  should  have  to  suffer  and  die.  Once, 
she  halted  in  a  sentence  and  I  saw  Guy's  features 
stiffen;  but  she  finished  her  story  unflinchingly. 
Afterwards,  I  knew  at  what  cost,  she  kept  that  gay 
composure.  Ah,  well,  the  martyrs  are  not  all  down 
in  the  church  histories.  That  was  why  I  didn't  like 
to  look  at  Guy;  but  when  I  did  venture  I  saw 
through  the  haggard  wretchedness  on  his  face  an 
unexpected  look — I  can't  describe  it;  but  somehow 
I  was  dimly  conscious  that  he  had  received  com 
fort. 

"  This  is  awfully  good  of  you,"  he  said. 

"  I  couldn't  help  coming/'  I  said. 

"  I  sent  a  man  with  a  sleigh,  I  couldn't  come  my 
self — but  I  am  sorry  he  didn't  get  there  in  time 
and  you  had  to  take  Robson's.  I  wanted  you  to 
come  here," 

His  words  sent  a  queer  little  crinkle  down  my 
nerves.  "  But  how  did  you  know?  "  I  asked.  He 
smiled.  "  I  am  not  going  to  have  any  secrets  from 
you,  my  mother  told  me." 

I  could  only  stare  at  him ;  was  his  brain  touched, 
— but,  then  I  had  come. 

Guy  smiled,  again;  "  No,  dear  old  man,  I'm  not 


196  A  House  Party 

a  bit  crazy.  But  lest  people  should  think  so  I  haven't 
told  anybody  about  it;  I'm  not  going  to  tell,  either. 
Only  you.  This  is  it.  Nobody  can  know  how  much 
my  mother  suffered ;  it  was  so  much  that  I  was  glad 
to  have  her  go.  Yet  to  the  end,  she  wasn't  like 
a  sick  person;  and  once  she  said  to  me;  "  Oh,  I 
don't  want  to  die,  Guy,  not  even  to  see  your  father ; 
I  want  to  stay  with  you !  "  A  little  while  after  she 
fell  asleep;  and  I  sat  beside  her.  I  think  that  you 
know  how  I  felt.  Suddenly,  her  eyes  opened;  they 
looked  into  mine  and  all  the  misery  I  was  feeling 
seemed  to  be  quieted.  She  said;  "  I  can't  stay,  Guy; 
and  you'll  see  me  sometimes."  And  then  she  went 
to  sleep  again.  She  never  recognised  anyone,  after 
that  although  she  lived  a  day  longer.  And  I  kept 
saying  that  to  myself.  It  steadied  me.  The  night 
she  died  I  came  in  where  she  was  and  staid  with 
her.  I — I  did  stay  with  her;  for  she  came  for  one 
minute;  and  it  was  just — just  real!  She  patted  my 
shoulders  and  my  hair  and  rumpled  it  up  the  way 
she  used ;  and  said,  "  Guy,  I  know  all  about  that 
letter,  don't  worry;  perhaps  your  voice  was  given 
you  for  something.  I  talked  with  your  father  and 
he  is  willing  and  the  other  career  is  closed."  You 
see  the  man  who  was  to  nominate  me  for  West  Point 
had  died  and  the  other,  his  successor  has  a  candidate 
of  his  own;  and  so  my  chance  was  gone,  there;  and 
I  had  never  told  her.  I'd  never  told  her  either,  that 
a  letter  had  come  from  a  musical  man  who'd  heard 
me  sing  at  school ;  and  he  was  willing  to  take  me  and 


The  Messenger  197 

train  me  on  the  chance  of  my  voice  turning  out 
something.  That  was  all  it  was,  only  a  minute;  but 
I  am  just  as  sure  as  if  I  saw  her  now,  sitting  by 
you." 

"  What  a  mercy !  "  I  said.  I  wasn't  quite  sure 
he  was  quite  right  in  his  head;  but  I  was  sure  that 
his  delusion  would  save  his  heart  from  breaking. 
To  lose  his  mother  and  his  career  at  the  same  mo 
ment;  it  was  hard  lines  enough  to  break  a  man's 
heart. 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted,  "  I  did  want  to  drown  my 
self.  But  I  don't  know.  I've  always  had  a  notion  that 
a  man  could  be  an  artist,  a  singer;  and  be  just  as 
much  of  a  man  as  a  soldier.  I  wanted  to  be  a 
soldier;  I  can't;  I'll  make  the  best  of  the  other. 
And — she  will  help  me." 

I  was  so  touched  I  wanted  to  cry;  but  I  couldn't 
do  that;  so  I  rapped  him  on  the  shoulder;  and  I 
gave  him  one  of  my  cigars;  and  got  him  off  to  the 
inn  with  me  for  the  night.  In  short,  I  braced  him 
up  the  best  I  could.  I  thought  a  lot  of  Guy,  during 
the  next  two  years;  and  saw  a  lot,  too,  as  he  was 
studying  in  Boston;  but  I  never  referred  to  his 
queer  psychic  experiences,  although  we  very  often 
talked  of  his  mother.  I  used  to  wonder  about  them, 
however,  by  myself.  The  fact  is,  it  was  impossible 
not  to  see  that  somehow,  that  dead  woman  was  con 
trolling  and  helping  Guy.  I  don't  suppose  he  could 
see  her  or  think  he  could  see  her,  once  a  month, 
perhaps  not  once  in  six  months;  but  he  believed  in 


198  A  House  Party 

her  continual  presence.  The  belief  was  not  only  his 
great  comfort;  it  was  his  tremendous  support.  Af 
ter  he  began  to  sing,  he  had  plenty  of  temptations, 
a  splendid  athletic  fellow  like  him  with  the  voice 
of  an  angel;  but  I  know  that  he  lived  as  clean  a 
life  as  a  girl's.  It's  Guy's  story  not  mine  I'm  telling 
but  he  was  a  good  friend  to  me  and  to  some  other 
fellows  of  the  old  school.  At  first  he  wouldn't  come 
over  to  Cambridge;  he  turned  rusty  at  the  mention 
of  it.  "  If  I  could  have  gone  to  West  Point  and 
shown  them  I  wasn't  a  sissy  boy,"  said  he,  "  it  would 
have  been  different;  now,  it's  no  use.  Let  them 
think  what  they  like  of  me !  "  Really,  however,  they 
had  come  round  to  my  point  of  view ;  and  I  got  them 
over  to  see  Guy  since  he  wouldn't  come  to  see  them ; 
after  which  he  did  come;  and  we  had  good  times. 
Then,  he  went  to  Europe;  he  came  back;  he  began 
to  sing,  in  church,  at  first.  Afterwards  he  got  his 
chance  and  was  to  sing  in  grand  opera.  Somebody 
had  given  out;  and  Guy  was  to  have  the  part.  It 
all  came  in  a  moment.  He  told  me  it  was  coming, 
excited  as  I  had  never  seen  him.  How  did  he  know  ? 
I  know  what  he  would  have  said :  "  I  don't  know 
any  explanation."  I  remember  the  day  before  he 
was  to  appear ;  he  took  a  walk  with  me.  I  had  come 
to  New  York  to  see  him  and  he  went  down  to 
Manhattan  beach  to  tell  me  about  things.  He  was 
in  the  highest  spirits.  He  told  me  how  he  had 
struggled;  how  he  had  insisted  in  singing  in  con 
certs  and  for  churches ;  how  under  an  assumed  name 


The  Messenger  199 

he  had  gone  into  Vaudeville,  even,  until  he  had  paid 
back  his  patron;  and  paid  his  uncle  for  his  school 
expenses.  "  I  made  the  last  payment,  yesterday/* 
he  cried,  "  I  am  a  free  man,  now ;  and  I  can  be  what 
I  want.  I  know  I  shall  succeed,  to-morrow.  It  is 
in  me,  listen!  "  He  flung  out  his  arms  and  sang  to 
the  birds  and  the  waves,  sang  more  like  a  lark  than 
a  man,  until  I  thought  of  Shelley's  ode.  It  was  pure 
joy  without  a  cadence  of  mortal  sorrow.  "  That's 
finer  than  pathos,"  he  cried,  "  that's  pure  tone.  I 
could  never  do  that  before.  I  seem  never  to  have 
known  happiness ;  I  know  it  now,  I  know  it,  now !  " 

"  And  she  is  an  angel,"  said  I,  dryly. 

He  smiled  as  he  nodded ;  "  Yes,  she  is.  How  did 
you  know  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know ;  only  generally  when  a  man  goes 
daft  in  that  fashion  there  is  some  woman  behind 
it  all.  Might  I  make  bold  to  ask  if — well,  is  there 
anything  definite?  " 

He  actually  blushed ;  for  a  man  of  the  world  and 
an  artist  he  was  amazingly  like  a  bashful  child.  "  I 
have  only  barely  seen  her  and  talked  to  her  a  little; 
I  know  she  does  not  dream  of  my  presumption; 
and  yet  I  know  she  feels  a  little  of  the  attraction 
that  I  felt  the  first  moment  I  saw  her;  I  am  sure 
she  does;  only  she  is  so  great  a  lady  she  couldn't 
consider  a  poor  singer;  a  great  singer — don't  you 
know  that  makes  all  the  difference!  and  she  will  be 
in  her  box  to-morrow  and  hear  me !  " 

"  Guy,"  I  said  impulsively,  "  I  don't  know  who 


200  A  House  Party 

she  is,  I  don't  care  what  she  has,  I  do  know  that 
she  has  reason  to  be  proud  of  your  love." 

"  That  shows  what  a  good  friend  you  are ;  if 
only  I  could  see  mother  and  find  out  what  she  thinks, 
you  two  are  the  only  ones  I  want  to  tell." 

"  Haven't  you  seen  your  mother  lately?  "  I  asked; 
I  always  talked  to  him  in  that  matter  of  fact  fashion ; 
it  was  impossible  to  argue  with  him  about  what 
was  as  absolute  a  reality  as  the  stars  to  him. 

"  Not  for  months,"  he  answered;  "  but  I  have  the 
feeling  that  I  shall,  soon;  it  is  incomplete  without 
her.  She  knows." 

He  began  to  sing  again;  and  again  I  thought  of 
Shelley's  lark;  but  this  time  it  was  not  the  "  profuse 
strains  of  unpremeditated  art "  which  Guy's  singing 
suggested;  I  was  repeating  under  my  breath; 

"  We  look  before  and  after,  we  sigh  for  what  is  not, 

Our  sincerest  laughter  with  some  pain  is  fraught ; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell 
Of  saddest  thought  ! " 

1  only  half  knew  the  German  words  yet  my  heart 
beat  thickly  with  Siegfried's  longing.  Away  out  to 
sea,  a  boat  was  scudding,  tripping  under  a  heavy 
sail;  it  came  nearer  and  nearer.  The  men  in  the 
boat  were  listening;  one  of  them  waved  his  cap. 

I  turned  on  Guy  with  a  jest  on  my  tongue  that 
was  never  spoken.  He  stopped  singing;  his  face 
changed ;  at  first  there  was  joy,  then  a  kind  of  fright. 
"What  do  you  mean,  mother  dear?"  he  said, 


The  Messenger  201 

"  what  can  happen  ?  How  shall  I  be  disappointed  ? 
Not — not  to-morrow  ?  " 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  describe  the  strange 
anxiety  with  which  I  listened  to  this  queer,  invisible 
telephone;  or  how,  instinctively,  I  fell  into  his  own 
attitude  of  expectation.  All  the  light  and  hope  was 
dashed  out  of  his  face.  He  stood,  gloomily  clench 
ing  his  hands  and  frowning  out  at  sea. 

Of  a  sudden  his  sombre  eyes  flashed.  "  Look  at 
the  boat !  "  he  cried. 

I  perceived  that  the  boat  which  I  had  noticed 
was  tacking  in  a  way  to  send  chills  down  a  sailor's 
spine. 

"  The  fools!  "  cried  Guy,  "  Oh,  the  cursed  fools! 
They'll  be  over  in  a  minute !  " 

Involuntarily,  I  ran  my  eye  over  the  beach  for 
a  boat  that  I  had  noticed  only  a  minute  before, 
which  a  boy  had  been  paddling  about.  "  Bring  that 
boat  in !  "  I  shouted. 

"  Maybe  that  will  do  it,  maybe,"  Guy  muttered; 
his  face  was  drawn  and  tense.  He  looked  as  I  had 
seen  him  once  in  a  losing  game  of  football  at  school 
when  he  made  that  rush  that  almost  saved  it.  We 
both  ran  to  the  beach;  before  we  got  to  the  surf, 
the  catboat  was  over  on  its  side  and  we  could  see 
the  men  trying  to  scramble  up  on  her. 

Guy  sent  his  wonderful  voice  out  to  them ;  "  Hold 
on !  Keep  your  heads !  We're  coming !  "  He 
pounded  down  after  me,  snatching  the  boat  out  of 
the  boy's  hands,  tumbling  in  with  a  frantic  haste. 


2O2  A  House  Party 

"  You  row,"  he  cried,  "  I'll  fish  the  crazy  brutes 
out  of  the  water." 

Silently  I  obeyed  him;  I  rowed  better  than  he, 
having  been  on  the  'varsity  scrub  crew;  and  I  bent 
to  the  oars  while  he  directed  me.  There  was  a  furi 
ous  eagerness  in  his  manner  which  I  had  never  seen 
there,  generally  he  was  very  gentle;  it  caught  me 
up  in  its  whirl  as  if  I  had  been  a  chip  in  a  gale. 
The  spray  matted  his  black  hair  on  his  forehead,  his 
eyes  scintillated  like  flames.  And  all  the  while  (a 
very  strange  sight  to  me  in  one  so  controlled  and 
quiet)  he  was  swearing  under  his  breath  at  the 
drowning  men.  As  for  them,  they  were  as  idiotic 
and  frightened  as  men  ever  are ;  I  daresay  they  were 
half  drunk.  The  boat  had  shipped  a  quantity  of 
water  before  tipping  and  they  hadn't  sense  to  roll 
her  over  and  climb  up  on  her;  and  she  was  sinking 
every  minute ;  they  would  all  be  in  the  water  before 
we  could  reach  them.  Guy  could  see  the  whole 
drama ;  I  only  got  it  from  a  single  swift  glance  over 
my  shoulders  and  his  exclamations  which  were  like 
groans. 

"  They  are  bobbing  like  corks,  d 'em !  Water 

like  ice  in  November.  There's  one  off — no,  he's 
back;  hear  them  praying  and  swearing  at  the  same 

time!  D you!  you  don't  deserve  to  be  saved! 

The  world's  better  off  without  such  brutes!  And 
to  give  up — For  such  curs !  Hold  on!  I  tell  you! " 

We  were  on  her  just  as  they  let  loose  and  the 
boat  with  a  horrible  sucking  gasp,  like  a  live  monster 


The  Messenger  203 

dipped  and  sank!  I  don't  know  quite  how  we  did 
it.  Guy  jumped  overboard  and  brought  them  one 
by  one,  somehow,  to  the  boat  and  we  got  them  over 
the  stern  and  into  the  bottom  where  they  lay  floun 
dering  like  fish,  the  three;  and  we  covered  them 
with  our  wet  coats;  and  rowed  them  to  shore  more 
dead  than  alive.  Guy  had  stopped  swearing;  but 
he  cast  a  deadly  sort  of  glance  at  the  sodden,  whim 
pering  creatures.  I  couldn't  understand  his  rancour. 
They  were  a  low  lot  to  be  sure ;  and  drunk  into  the 
bargain;  but  I  didn't  see  why  he  was  so  enraged  at 
them.  Nevertheless,  he  helped  get  them  into  a  cart 
and  got  them  to  shelter  and  fire.  The  day  had 
turned  bitter  cold  for  us  in  our  soaked  garments ;  but 
Guy  poured  hot  coffee  down  the  shipwrecked  men's 
throats  before  he  took  any  himself.  While  he  was 
drinking  he  began  to  cough.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  it  struck  me  what  this  life-saving  business 
might  mean  to  him. 

"You  come  along  with  me,"  I  said  sternly; 
"  they'll  do  all  right ;  you've  got  to  get  some  quinine 
and  whiskey  in  you !  " 

"  If  I  can  get  it,"  said  he,  "  it's  no  use,  old  man, 
I'm  in  for  bronchitis  and  my  voice  will  go.  I  knew 
it  when  I  jumped  into  the  water.  She  told  me  not  to 
hesitate;  I  hoped,  I  think  she  hoped  too,  we  could 
get  them  off  without  getting  into  the  water." 

"  Oh,  why  didn't  you  let  me  jump?  "  I  cried. 

"  Because  you  can't  swim  anything  like  as  well  as 
I;  we  couldn't  have  saved  but  two  of  them  then! 


204  A  House  Party 

Come,  let's  get  out  of  this  and  make  a  fight  against 
bronchitis,  anyhow;  here's  some  money  to  leave  for 
them.  They've  lost  their  coats.  Oh,  well,  I  dare 
say  they  want  to  live.  Maybe,  there's  some  woman 
will  sleep  better  to-night  for  having  the  worthless 
dogs  alive ! " 

So  I  took  him  away.  We  did  our  best ;  but  there 
was  delay ;  he  was  thoroughly  chilled ;  perhaps  there 
was  a  little  weakness  back  of  it  all ;  anyhow,  he  had 
bronchitis  and  he  did  lose  his  voice.  It  was  pretty 
awful." 

The  story  teller  was  silent,  twisting  his  mous 
tache.  Presently  he  smiled. 

"That  isn't  the  end  of  the  story?"  said  Mrs.. 
Hexamer, 

"  No,  not  entirely.  It  was  a  knock  out  blow  of 
fate  you  might  say;  but  Guy  was  not  that  kind  of 
a  fellow.  The  day  after  the  doctor's  verdict,  I  found 
him  sitting  up  in  his  chair,  reading  the  newspapers 
about  the  Spanish  war. 

He  greeted  me  as  cheerfully  as  he  had  before  the 
bad  quarter  of  an  hour  he  had  had. 

"  What's  up,  now?  "  said  I,  almost  inclined  to  be 
peevish  with  such  frivolity. 

His  smile  faded;  but  he  kept  his  head  in  the  air. 
"  I  saw  my  mother  last  night,"  said  he. 

"Is  your  voice  going  to  come  back?"  said  I;  I 
was  almost  as  much  a  believer  as  he  at  times,  you 
see. 

He  shook  his  head.     "  No,  I'm  going  back  to  my 


The  Messenger  205 

old  trade,"  said  he,  "  I'm  going  to  enlist.  Who 
knows,  maybe  I'll  have  a  chance  to  do  something." 

"  By  Jove,"  I  cried,  "  girls  like  heroes  more  than 
great  singers.  Go  in  and  win,  Guy,  I'll  go  with 
you." 

"And  you  did  go,"  interrupted  Miss  Callender; 
"and  did  he  win?" 

"  He  got  a  lieutenancy  and  the  typhoid  fever ;  and 
I  brought  him  home." 

"  Did  he  see  his  mother  ?  Did  she  come  to  him, 
again  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Hexamer. 

Once.  I  heard  him  talking  to  her.  Oh,  of  course 
it  might  be  ravings  but  she  did  tell  him  he  wouldn't 
die  and  he  didn't  die.  And  in  the  talk  he  let  out 
the  girl's  name.  When  I  got  home,  I  went  straight 
to  her  and  told  her  the  story;  I  didn't  tell  her  that 
I  believed  his  mother  and  not  the  doctors  who  said 
he  would  die.  I  told  her  about  the  doctors.  She 
listened  to  it  all;  she  was  a  girl  I  knew  and  had 
known  all  my  life;  yet  to  save  my  soul  I  couldn't 
tell  how  it  affected  her.  But  she  rose  up  and  said, 
"  If  I  go  with  you,  will  they  let  me  see  him?  " 

"  I'll  undertake  that,"  said  I. 

"  If  they  don't,"  said  she,  "  will  you  tell  him  I 
never  did  like  singers ;  I  hated  to  have  him  a  singer ; 
and — and  I  think  he  was  noble  to  do  as  he  did !  " 

Well,  she  went  with  me;  she  did  see  him;  never 
theless  I  gave  him  her  message.  He  had  always 
maintained  that  his  mother  knew  and  was  glad  of 
the  return  to  his  original  career;  I  don't  know;  I 


206  A  House  Party 

do  know  that  such  communion  with  the  departed  as 
Guy  believes  is  his,  has  transfigured  his  life.  If  it 
was  a  dream,  it  was  a  dream  from  which  I  hope  he 
will  never  wake !  " 

"  Look  here,"  protested  a  hardened  bachelor, 
"  do  you  mean  to  say  that  any  woman  was  fool 
enough  to  marry  a  fellow  like  that,  a  man  whose 
shadow — one  can't  say  '  went  back  of  him ',  for 
that's  what  it  ought  to  do — well,  a  second  Peter 
Schlemil — a  man  with  a  spook  mother,  and  who,  in 
the  words  of  Eugene  Field,  '  kept  seein'  things  at 
night.'  It  seems  to  me  he  was  outside  the  domestic 
paling — that  is,  the  barbed  wire  fence — of  matri 
mony.  Lord!  Think  of  a  mother-in-law  who 
couldn't  be  kept  away  by  locks  and  bolts,  and  whom 
you  couldn't  shy  something  at  in  moments  of 
need." 

"  Don't  you  think  there  are  supernatural  things, 
Mr.  Glover?  "  asked  a  woman. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  They  used  to  call  idiots,  naturals, 
and  some  modern  ones  are  such  big  specimens  that 
they  are  plainly  supernatural,"  snapped  the  old  man, 
who  in  truth  was  bored,  and  was  wondering  when 
the  whiskey  and  water  would  arrive.  "  That's  the 
only  supernatural  I  believe  in." 

"  Come,  Katie,  we  must  convert  Mr.  Glover,  and 
on  the  spot.  Tell  us  the  story  of  THE  GREEN 
BOWL,"  begged  Mrs.  Goddard,  "  as  you  told  it  to 
me." 

Katie  looked  up,  and  smiled  as  if  with  ready  as 
sent.  "  I  am  proud  to  be  called  upon,"  she  said 


The  Messenger  207 

gaily,  "  but  it  will  not  be  a  story,  but  a  plain  record 
of  experience.  After  the  manner  of  the  Arabian 
Nights,  you  shall  now  listen  to  my  tale  of  the  little 
green  bowl  and  a  night  in  the  meeting-house. 


THE  GREEN   BOWL 


I 


C  C  I"  AM  a  person  who  has  always  cherished  a  prej 
udice  against  crossing  the  sea,  and  I  have  made 
up  for  it  handsomely  by  taking  many  journeys 
on  land  here  at  home.  Some  of  the  dearest  of  these 
have  also  been  the  shortest.  I  have  had  an  un 
broken  custom  these  many  years,  of  going  away  for 
a  week's  driving  up  the  country  in  late  September 
or  early  October,  and  just  before  I  came  here  I  had 
an  adventure  for  the  first  time.  And  that  little  green 
bowl  on  the  table  there  is  to  me  a  dear  and  valued 
memento  of  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  go  through  the  country 
quite,  quite  alone,"  asked  Mrs.  Crosdyck,  a  majestic- 
looking  elderly  lady,  with  some  reproach  in  her 
voice. 

"  A  coachman  and  a  footman  would  spoil  my  joys 
altogether,"  acknowledged  Miss  Montague  with  de 
cision.  "  There  is  only  one  way  to  do  it ;  one  must 
have  a  good  companion  and  an  excellent  horse,  a 
light  buggy,  and  almost  no  baggage  at  all.  One 
must  wear  a  shirt-waist  and  a  corduroy  skirt  and 
jacket,  she  must  have  a  dressing  kit  of  the  most 
frugal  sort,  no  silver  boxes  or  dressing-table  tools 
or  any  tea  gowns  allowed !  One  may  provide  a  very 
little  good  tea  for  emergencies,  and  a  small  box  of 
biscuit,  and  a  nubbin  of  chocolate  or  some  decent 
raisins.  Yes,  and  one  needs  a  good  golf  cape  in  case 

208 


The  Green  Bowl  209 

)f  rain,"  the  traveller  insisted  eagerly,  as  if  the 
ierious  duty  of  selection  had  suddenly  arrived. 
'  But  the  most  important  things  are  the  horse  and 
:ompanion !  " 

"  And  then,  my  dear  child,"  asked  the  disapprov- 
ng  lady,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  really  go 
iriving  off  to  strange  places,  quite,  quite  alone? 
rlave  you  no  fear  of  tramps?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  answered  the  story-teller  with 
i  fire  of  enthusiasm  for  which  the  guests  were  unpre- 
>ared.  "  I  might  be  the  only  living  descendant  of 
ilobin  Hood  himself :  besides,  I  don't  go  alone;  Miss 
£ent  always  almost  goes  with  me.  My  only  sorrow 
s  that  I  can't  go  gypsying  afoot  and  be  a  tramp  my- 
;elf.  Should  you  really  like  to  know  about  our  last 
fear's  excursion?  " 

"  You  would  hardly  think,  to  look  at  my  com 
panion  now,  that  she  was  fit  for  adventuring,"  re 
sumed  the  speaker  after  a  warm  response.  "  You 
>ee  Miss  Frances  Kent  sitting  there,  gowned  in 
white,  with  rare  old  pink  topaz  ornaments?  (I 
speak  as  the  society  newspaper.)  I  now  show  you 
;he  celebrated  Miss  Frances  Kent,  ladies  and  gentle- 
nen,  known  as  the  best  of  companions  for  such  a 
journey.  She  is  ever  thankful  for  '  the  key  of  the 
iclds  '  like  myself,  and  we  are  going  again  this  year, 
Downed  in  well-worn  corduroy,  and  with  happy 
icarts,  to  see  what  else  we  can  of  the  world.  The 
Dnly  thing  that  troubles  us  is  that  we  have  to  take 
50  many  clumsy  things  for  the  horse,  and  they  make 


2i  o  A  House  Party 

the  buggy  quite  uncomfortable,  but  we  mind  noth 
ing  when  we  are  really  out  upon  the  road." 

"  Where  do  you  go  ? "  asked  an  awestricken 
voice. 

"Oh  anywhere;"  replied  Miss  Montague  with 
the  utmost  cheerfulness.  "  Sometimes  northeast 
and  sometimes  northwest,  as  the  case  may  be.  The 
country  taverns  are  much  better  since  the  days  of 
bicycling  came  in.  We  start  off  boldly  and  just 
say  that  we  are  going  up  the  country  and  then  let 
fate  or  fortune  choose  the  way.  Last  year  we  had 
been  to  see  an  old  village,  high  on  the  shoulders  of 
the  mountains,  which  I  had  always  wished  to  visit. 
We  were  on  our  way  home,  as  safe  as  dolls  in  a 
nursery  when  we  had  our  little  adventure  and  got 
the  green  bowl." 

The  audience  politely  waited  for  the  story. 

"  Rain  is  a  great  enemy  to  the  primitive  traveller 
and  to  lose  one's  way  is  exciting,  but  not  really 
dangerous,"  the  speaker  explained,  "  We  also  wish 
that  there  was  a  useful  society  for  the  maintenance 
of  sign-boards.  We  were  hurrying  toward  home 
that  day,  and  lost  our  way  because  we  could  find 
no  sign-boards  at  all,  though  we  poked  about  with 
a  stick  in  the  raspberry  bushes  at  the  fork  of  the 
roads  and  thought  we  had  found  what  was  left  of  the 
sign-post,  and  then  were  obliged  to  let  the  horse 
himself  select  the  way  home,  and  he  struck  into  a 
road  that  carried  us  many  miles  through  the  woods. 
Instead  of  leading  us  the  way  we  expected,  this  road 


The  Green  Bowl  21 1 

at  last  seemed  to  take  a  turn  back  toward  the  hills 
again.  The  bushes  grew  closer  against  the  wheels, 
and  after  we  had  passed  some  rough  wood-roads 
by  which  timber  had  been  hauled  out  in  the  winter, 
the  signs  of  travel  were  so  slight  that  we  feared  that 
we  were  for  the  first  time  likely  to  spend  a  night  in 
an  impromptu  camp.  I  confess  that  it  was  a  little 
too  late  in  the  season  for  that,  and  it  was  so  near 
the  end  of  the  day  that  we  were  sorry  to  think  of 
£oing  all  the  way  back.  Frances,  there,  began  to  be 
timid  and  even  reproachful,  she  had  insisted  from 
the  first  that  we  should  have  taken  the  other  road, 
and  was  pleased  to  blame  me  when  our  mistake  was 
all  the  fault  of  the  horse." 

'  You  haven't  said  that  it  was  already  growing 
dark  and  that  the  clouds  were  of  a  threatening  hue," 
Droke  in  Miss  Kent.  "  It  looked  like  a  black  rainy 
light ;  I  expected  every  minute  that  we  should  come 
:o  a  deserted  clearing  or  a  ruined  logging  camp ;  for 
it  last  the  road  itself  seemed  hard  to  find,  there  were 
mshes  in  it  by  that  time  as  well  as  alongside  and 
four  ignorant  horse  stopped  still  in  his  tracks!" 

"  Yes,  and  then  we  heard  a  cock  crowing,"  Miss 
Montague  interrupted  her  scornfully,  "  and  we  went 
)n  again  directly;  we  should  have  been  all  right  if 
t  hadn't  been  for  the  rain.  I  like  that  horse  myself 
md  I  think  that  I  shall  take  him  again  this  year. 
Fhen  we  hurried  on  toward  the  farm  which  could 
)e  not  far  away.  The  voice  of  poultry  usually  means 
lot  only  a  hen-coop  but  a  barn  and  a  house,  and  we 


212  A  House  Party 

began  to  laugh  at  each  other  and  I  whipped  the  horse 
because  it  was  just  beginning  to  rain.  It  was  not 
long  before  we  were  out  of  the  woods  but  there  was 
no  hen-coop  to  be  seen,  much  less  a  house  or  barn. 
There  was  indeed  a  piece  of  open  country  but  it  was 
all  pasture  land,  and  we  thought  that  the  cock's  crow 
was  only  a  ghost  of  a  bird  and  sat  and  looked  at 
each  other.  Beyond  the  empty  pastures  the  road 
plunged  into  the  woods  again." 

"  And  then  you  said,  '  This  is  what  we  have 
always  wanted,  Frances;  this  is  really  an  adven 
ture  ! '  '  said  Miss  Kent  laughing,  but  one  of  the 
elder  ladies  gave  a  groan  of  dismay, 

"  It  was  raining  fast  and  the  light  was  fast  going. 
I  began  to  wonder  if  there  was  anything  better  to  do 
than  to  drive  under  a  thick  pine  tree  and  pull  out 
the  rubber  lap-robe  and  put  it  over  our  knees  and 
sit  still  all  night  in  the  buggy,"  continued  the  nar 
rator,  making  the  most  of  the  situation.  "  But  we 
really  had  heard  the  encouraging  rooster;  I  suppose 
now  that  some  track  led  through  that  pasture  to  a 
farmhouse  hidden  behind  the  woods.  The  horse 
knew  more  than  we  did,  perhaps  he  heard  some 
sounds  of  life  that  we  couldn't  hear,  for  he  began  to 
trot  along  cheerfully  as  fast  as  he  could  go  and  pretty 
soon  we  had  passed  through  those  black  hemlock 
woods  that  lay  beyond  the  pastures  and  came  out  to 
the  open  world  where  we  saw  a  funny  little  church 
steeple  not  far  away. 

"  Now,   the  very  morning  before  this,  we  had 


The  Green  Bowl  213 

passed  another  church  and  I  had  told  Frances,  when 
I  saw  the  long  row  of  open  sheds  where  the  horses 
were  left  during  service  time,  that  ever  since  I  could 
remember  I  had  thought  what  fun  it  would  be  to 
drive  under  such  a  shelter  and  keep  oneself  dry  and 
safe  if  a  shower  came  up,  and  that  never  yet  had  the 
shower  and  the  sheds  and  I  all  been  in  the  same 
place  at  the  same  time.  That  was  enough  to  say, 
the  interfering  fates  had  listened  to  me ;  my  oppor 
tunity  had  arrived;  and  I  fairly  whirled  in  out  of  the 
steady  rain,  thankful  enough  to  get  under  cover." 

"  Isn't  it  the  strangest  thing  in  the  world !  "  in 
terrupted  Mrs.  Crosdyck  with  enthusiasm,  "  if  you 
say  that  you  haven't  had  a  headache  for  a  year,  you 
simply  do  remind  the  fates  to  send  you  one ;  the  care 
ful  Germans  knock  under  the  table  to  drive  such 
evil  spirits  away,  but  we  take  no  proper  precautions 
here  in  America,  we  really  are  too  self-sufficient!" 

The  hostess  looked  relieved  and  even  triumphant. 

"  Go  on  my  dear  Katie!"  Mrs.  Goddard  urged 
the  traveller  with  a  contented  smile. 

"  Oh  yes,  the  fates  had  not  only  taken  heed  of 
me,  but  they  seemed  to  have  provided  rain  and  sheds 
enough  to  make  up  for  all  lacks  of  either  in  my 
whole  history,"  said  Miss  Montague.  "  The  only 
trouble  was  that  there  was  so  little  of  me.  It  must 
have  been  a  large  parish,  though  one  could  see  no 
houses  the  line  of  sheds  looked  as  long  as  a  cavalry 
barrack,  and  the  rain  was  a  drowning  rain.  Frances 
was  now  more  sulky  than  can  be  described,  though 


214  A  House  Party 

she  had  been  complaining  through  the  whole  week's 
drive  of  too  much  dust,  and  I  looked  across  the  road 
at  the  church  spire  and  the  vane  pointed  northeast 
in  the  most  determined  fashion,  by  this  time  it  was 
quite  half-past  five  o'clock.  We  had  passed  one 
little  dark  low-storied  house  that  looked  quite  de 
serted,  but  I  had  seen  no  barn  beside  it,  it  was  no  use 
to  go  back,  we  should  be  wet  through.  We  sat 
there  in  the  buggy  and  looked  at  each  other  in  de 
spair.  You  were  very  decent  in  your  behaviour 
Frances !  though  very  glum  indeed !  "  she  exclaimed, 
at  which  tribute  of  respect  the  company  laughed 
aloud. 

"  What  did  you  do?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Crosdyck. 
"  What  an  awful  situation  for  two  young  ladies!  " 

"  And  a  hungry  horse !  "  added  a  merciful  mascu 
line  with  an  amused  smile.  "  I  should  have  advised 
driving  as  fast  as  you  could  through  the  rain  until 
you  found  shelter,  there  must  have  been  good  farm 
houses  not  far  beyond." 

Miss  Montague  laughed  a  little.  "  If  you  had 
only  seen  how  it  poured  and  how  dark  it  was  grow 
ing!  "  she  answered  modestly,  "  and  we  might  have 
gone  a  mile  or  even  two,  and  Frances  here  was  al 
ready  wet  and  shivering.  '  Get  out  my  dear ! '  said 
I  affectionately  '  and  jump  up  and  down  a  little  to 
warm  you,  I'll  run  across  to  the  church ! '  and  I  did 
not  wait  for  argument  but  caught  up  my  skirts  and 
ran.  I  was  ready  to  pound  in  the  door  by  the  time 
I  got  to  it,  but  it  quietly  opened  as  if  it  had  heard 


The  Green  Bowl  2 1  5 

good  preaching,  and  knew  its  duty ;  and  in  the  entry 
I  saw  that  there  was  a  nice  pile  of  pine  wood,  and  I 
even  observed  in  my  extremity,  a  tin  match-box  on 
the  ledge  of  the  rough  wainscotting.  All  I  wanted 
was  the  stove,  and  that  was  just  beyond,  at  the  back 
of  the  pews.  I  hadn't  consciously  thought  about  the 
cold  while  we  were  driving,  but  I  now  knew  that  I 
was  shivering  myself.  So  I  just  stopped  and  made 
a  fire  in  that  good  old  box-stove,  then  and  there.  I 
may  have  used  a  few  leaves  of  a  tattered  hymn-book 
for  kindling,  I  really  can't  say,  and  the  smoke  puffed 
out  at  me  so  that  I  thought  I  should  be  forever  blind, 
but  in  two  minutes  I  had  a  good  fire  going." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  admiration  from  the 
audience. 

"  Then  I  ran  across  the  road  again,  meaning  to 
send  Frances  over  to  the  church  to  get  dry  and  warm 
while  I  drove  on  alone  to  find  a  good  place  where 
we  could  be  housed  for  the  night;  you  must  know 
that  Frances  had  been  ill  the  winter  before,  and  her 
lungs  were  still  considered  to  be  delicate.  I  was 
going  to  run  no  risks ;  but  when  I  got  back  she  was 
fairly  beaming  with  joy,  I  could  see  her  eyes  shine 
though  it  was  almost  dark  under  the  sheds.  '  Look 
here,'  said  she,  '  here's  a  fine  pile  of  hay  in  the  next 
cubby  but  one!  I  suppose  some  farmer  has  a  horse 
that  won't  stand  quietly  without  refreshments,  or 
some  one  may  have  been  at  work  about  the  church 
and  brought  it.'  'Don't  let's  search  for  reasons,' 
said  I ;  the  dear  child  had  already  brought  an  armful 


2i 6  A  House  Party 

of  hay,  though  I  had  always  thought  she  knew 
nothing  about  horses,  and  had  even  let  the  check 
rein  down,  and  old  Bob  was  munching  away  as  com 
fortably  as  possible.  So  I  told  Frances  about  the  fire 
in  the  church  and  sent  her  across  to  sit  beside  it,  and 
made  up  my  mind  to  stay  all  night  just  where  we 
were.  I  unharnessed  old  Bob  and  put  on  his  blanket 
and  halter,  and  led  him  through  to  the  stall  where 
the  hay  was,  and  pulled  the  buggy  farther  in  out  of 
the  wet,  and  spread  out  the  rug  we  had  had  over  us 
and  put  all  our  things  into  it,  and  then  I  splashed  over 
again  to  the  little  church.  You  certainly  never 
heard  such  a  rain,  it  drummed  louder  than  ever  on 
the  roof,  and  I  was  as  wet  as  I  could  be." 

"  We  thought  it  must  be  the  equinoctial  storm," 
said  Miss  Frances  Kent  laughing  a  little.  "  Your 
poor  hat,  Katie!  It  had  been  trimmed  with  nice 
ostrich  feathers,  and  when  I  saw  you  coming  in  at 
the  door  with  your  great  load,  and  those  feathers 
dripping  into  your  eyes,  you  were  truly  a  most  for 
lorn  object." 

"  Of  what  importance  were  our  looks !  "  demanded 
Miss  Montague  with  royal  scorn.  "  You  may  not 
believe  it,  any  of  you  who  are  listening  to  me,  but  we 
had  a  most  charming  evening  together,  Frances  and 
I,  after  we  got  dry.  The  church  was  not  cold,  it 
had  been  sunshiny  weather,  rather  hot  for  the  season, 
all  that  week,  and  the  pine-wood  fire  soon  made  us 
only  too  warm.  We  had  a  little  of  our  luncheon  left 
and  we  ate  it  thankfully,  with  the  aforesaid  nubbin  of 


The  Green  Bowl  217 

chocolate  for  dessert.  Of  course  there  were  plenty 
of  kerosene  lamps  in  the  meeting-house,  and  we 
lighted  two  or  three  of  them  and  made  our  corner 
quite  gay.  There  was  a  little  organ  in  the  singing 
seats  that  wasn't  half  bad;  a  very  nice  tone  it  had; 
and  Frances  played  upon  it  (contented,  sober 
things),  that  she  remembered,  and  sang  a  good  deal, 
dear  girl,  and  made  it  very  pleasant  for  me,  though  I 
don't  know  much  about  music;  then  we  got  sleepy 
and  looked  about  for  two  pews  with  good  cushions. 
It  was  a  nice  old  church  with  decent  wide  pews  that 
made  us  very  comfortable.  We  just  locked  the 
church  door  to  keep  out  burglars,  and  laid  ourselves 
down  in  our  two  pews  and  went  to  sleep !  " 

"  It  was  a  great  bit  of  fun,"  insisted  Miss  Kent, 
protesting  a  little  at  the  mingled  amusement  and 
horror  of  the  company.  "  We  really  had  a  delight 
ful  evening,  but  you  must  tell  them  now  about  our 
breakfast,  Katie  dear." 

"  I  was  just  waking  up  in  wonder,"  said  the  story 
teller.  "  I  did  really  feel  a  little  stiff  and  lame  that 
next  morning,  but  it  was  not  an  equinoctial  rain  at 
all;  the  sunshine  was  pouring  in  through  the  big 
windows,  and  I  always  did  like  to  sleep  in  a  bright 
room.  It  was  half-past  five  by  the  church  clock ;  old 
Bob  was  whinnying  and  there  was  somebody  knock 
ing  very  loud  at  the  meeting-house  door.  I  was  not 
startled,  but  I  was  half  provoked,  because  whoever 
it  was  kept  up  such  an  incessant  knocking  and  call 
ing-  I  g°t  there  as  quick  as  I  could,  but  Frances 


2 1 8  '"  A  House  taffy 

was  still  sound  asleep,  like  a  stupid  baby,  in  her  pew. 
I  opened  the  door  and  there  stood  the  most  dear 
kind-looking  old  woman  that  you  ever  saw,  with  a 
face  of  such  anxiety  that  I  couldn't  help  laughing  as 
I  looked  at  her." 

"  '  You  poor  dear  young  creatur's ! '  she  said,  '  be 
you  alive  this  morning?  I  see  you  drive  by  in  that 
drowning  rain,  and  I  run  out  and  called  after  you 
to  come  in,  but  I  couldn't  make  you  hear.  I  expected 
you'd  go  right  on  to  Duffy's  folks,  but  'tis  a  mile 
an'  a  quarter  further,  and  then  I  watched  an'  I  didn't 
see  ye  pass  up  the  hill  right  out  beyond  here,  and  so 
I  knowed  you'd  been  discreet  and  drove  into  the 
sheds.  It  was  pourin'  so  I  couldn't  do  nothin' ;  my 
health  ain't  sufficient  to  risk  a  wetting,  but  I  did  feel 
anxious,  and  'twant  half  an  hour  afore  I  see  you'd 
got  safe  into  the  meetin'-house,  an'  lit  the  lamps,  an' 
I  set  down  then  an'  felt  easy,  an'  says  to  myself  the 
Lord  will  provide;  they  looked  like  very  competent 
girls  an'  they  can  easy  make  'em  a  nice  fire.  I'd 
been  over  early  in  the  morning,  a-sweeping  out  the 
pews,  an'  'twas  I  that  had  left  the  door  unlocked, 
meanin'  to  go  back  if  it  hadn't  come  on  to  rain  so. 
I  keep  the  keys;  they  call  me  the  deacon,  some  on 
'em  in  the  parish !  Now  I  want  you  to  come  right 
along  home  with  me ;  I  laid  awake  in  the  night  con 
siderable  and  I  see  when  you  put  the  lights  out  nice 
an'  careful,  an'  I  says;  now  what  I  can  do  for  them 
strangers  is  to  give  'em  a  nice  hot  breakfast ! ' 

"  Frances  had  got  herself  well  waked  up  and  put 


The  Green  Bowl  219 

together  by  that  time,  and  came  out  with  her  most 
cordial  manners,  and  we  all  three  helped  to  put  the 
church  to  rights.  Mrs.  Patton  looked  anxiously 
about  to  see  if  we  had  done  any  mischief,  but  we 
hadn't,  and  she  found  the  church  broom,  and  swept 
neatly  about  the  stove  for  us  as  I  had  meant  to  do 
myself.  We  put  some  money  into  the  contribution 
box,  and  then  we  went  off  up  the  road  with  the  good 
little  old  soul.  It  was  a  perfectly  enchanting  morn 
ing,  old  Bob  was  still  munching  away  at  his  pile  of 
hay,  and  he  called  after  us  most  sociably.  Mrs. 
Patton  said  that  we  could  bring  him  a  pail  of  water 
when  we  came  back  from  breakfast." 

"Well,  and  how  did  you  fare,  my  dear?"  asked 
Mrs.  Crosdyck  again,  a  little  incredulous. 

"  It  was  the  very  best  breakfast  we  had  ever  eaten 
in  our  lives,  you  know  that  we  hadn't  in  the  least 
over-eaten  at  supper,"  said  Miss  Kent,  eagerly  tak 
ing  up  the  thread  of  discourse.  "  By  this  time  it  was 
only  six  o'clock,  but  Mrs.  Patton  had  made  every 
thing  ready  that  she  could  before  she  came  over. 
We  ate  and  ate,  and  we  laughed  and  laughed,  the 
dear  little  old  woman  was  so  droll  and  her  house 
was  one  of  those  warm  little  brown  country  houses 
that  are  full  of  welcome  and  homely  comfort.  I  be 
lieve  there  wasn't  a  bit  of  paint  in  it  except  on  her 
pretty  green  kitchen  chairs.  She  had  some  good  old 
pictures  on  the  wall  too,  prints  of  Bible  subjects 
mostly,  and  a  splendid,  coloured  one  of  the  Pirate's 
Bride.  Her  garden  was  full  of  phlox  and  tiger-lilies 


22O  A  House  Party 

then,  but  it  had  been  a  lovely  garden  all  the  season ; 
she  said  that  she  always  put  the  Sunday  flowers  on 
the  pulpit  desk  in  summer.  As  for  the  green  bowl, 
it  was  standing  on  a  side-table  between  the  windows 
in  the  kitchen,  with  three  yellow  apples  in  it,  and  I 
said  what  a  beauty  it  was,  and  Katie  praised  it  too, 
you  can  see  it  for  yourselves !  " 

Miss  Montague  had  stopped  suddenly  in  mid- 
course.  She  had  been  gayly  recounting  this  simple 
adventure  of  a  rainy  day,  but  almost  with  the  first 
entrance  of  a  figure  with  so  wet  a  rustic  landscape, 
her  manner  had  entirely  changed. 

"  One  always  knows  when  one  sees  a  real  friend 
for  the  first  time,"  she  said  gravely.  "  Frances  and 
I  took  Mrs.  Patton  to  our  lonely  hearts  at  that  first 
moment." 

"  You  ought  to  call  this  "  The  Tale  of  a  Lonely 
Parish,"  only  Mr.  Marion  Crawford  thought  of  the 
title  first,  laughed  Mrs.  Goddard.  "  I  can  imagine 
your  two  faces  in  the  doorway;  I  am  sure  that  you 
looked  apprehensive,  both  of  you,  and  tired  and 
hungry  too ! " 

"  I  shall  never  forget  how  Mrs.  Patton  trotted 
ahead  of  us  down  the  road  towards  her  house," 
laughed  Miss  Kent.  "  She  was  talking  as  fast  as 
she  could  over  her  shoulder  all  the  way,  and  her  cat 
had  come  with  her  and  kept  close  by  her  skirts.  The 
horse  was  whinnying  after  us  like  a  whole  circus, 
poor  old  Bob  feared  that  he  might  be  forgotten,  and 
altogether  we  made  a  great  excitement." 


The  Green  Bowl  221 

"  I  should  have  rung  the  church  bell  for  help," 
announced  Mrs.  Crosdyck,  with  an  air  of  being  the 
only  resourceful  member  of  the  company. 

"  There  wasn't  any  bell,"  retorted  the  girl,  and 
nobody  who  listens  to  me  need  think  that  we  were 
frightened  for  one  moment.  I  should  like  to  know 
what  there  was  to  frighten  one  in  such  a  peaceful, 
honest,  little  corner  of  the  world  as  that." 

"  And  then  you  saw  the  bowl,"  Mrs.  Crosdyck 
suggested  impatiently. 

"  Yes,  all  the  time  we  were  at  the  table  I  kept 
stealing  glances  at  the  green  bowl.  It  was  on  the 
other  table  between  the  front  windows.  It  was  be 
hind  Frances  and  so  she  couldn't  see  it  as  well  as  I." 

"  I  had  seen  it,"  answered  Miss  Kent,  "  and  I 
knew  very  well  what  you  were  looking  at." 

"  It  is  not  an  unusual  thing  to  see  so  good  a  piece 
of  china  in  a  little  house  like  that,"  explained  Mrs. 
Goddard.  "  Nearly  all  the  best  things  in  my  collec 
tion  have  come  out  of  just  such  houses.  There  was  a 
time  when  they  were  not  much  valued,  but  twenty 
years  have  made  an  entire  change.  After  those  of  us 
who  began  to  make  collections,  came  a  deluge  of 
mercenary  collectors,  who  canvassed  the  neighbour 
hood  of  all  the  old  seaport  towns.  There  is  little  to 
be  found  now,  but  the  former  owners  of  old  china, 
and  French  and  English  pottery,  have  become  well 
educated  in  the  real  values  of  old  plates  and  bowls, 
that  they  once  gladly  sold  for  a  quarter  of  a  dollar." 

"  Mrs.   Patton  was  begging  us  to  eat  more  of 


222  A  House  Party 

everything  on  her  dear  little  square  table,"  Miss 
Montague  went  on.  "  Somebody  asked  me  if  we 
had  pie  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  I  would  not  answer 
him  because  the  question  was  not  asked  in  the  right 
spirit,  but  I  now  say  that  we  did  have  an  apple  pie 
such  as  I  have  never  eaten  before  or  since.  It  made 
a  sort  of  dessert  to  our  breakfast,  instead  of  berries 
or  any  other  stewed  fruit.  For  my  own  part,"  and 
she  challenged  the  whole  company  with  great  spirit, 
"  I  never  had  any  sympathy  with  those  who  can 
accept  an  inelegant,  dull  English  tart  without  pro 
test,  and  then  smile  at  a  New  England  pie.  They  do 
not  see  that  the  pie  is  a  highly  developed  English  tart 
made  fit  for  Christian  food  and  attractive  to  the  epi 
cure.  Imagination  has  worked  upon  it,  the  higher 
education  of  women  has  spiritualised  its  grosser 
form.  The  English  tart  is  nothing  but  a  pie  with 
out  a  soul.  If  I  described  the  creation  that  we  ate 
for  breakfast  at  Mrs.  Pattern's ! — " 

"  Oh,  but  we  aren't  as  hungry  as  you  were  then !  " 
cried  someone.  The  listeners  were  in  the  best  of 
humour  now,  especially  Mrs.  Crosdyck,  but  she 
proved  to  have  at  least  one  wish  still  unsatisfied. 

"  Your  travels  are  very  interesting,  my  dear,"  she 
said  loftily,  "  but  I  should  like  to  hear  a  real  story. 
I  am  really  curious  about  that  green  bowl." 

"  So  were  we !  "  agreed  Katie  pleasantly.  "  Pres 
ently,  when  there  was  a  pause,  I  asked  a  question : 
you  see  that  we  first  had  to  tell  all  about  ourselves, 
and  hear  all  about  each  other,  and  give  proper  time 


The  Green  Bowl  223 

to  the  preliminaries  of  so  true  a  friendship;  then  I 
frankly  asked  Mrs.  Patton  where  she  got  that  beau 
tiful  little  green  bowl." 

"  She  laughed  aloud  in  the  oddest  way  before  she 
answered  me.  '  Funny  how  everybody  that  comes 
to  this  house  asks  me  that  question ! '  she  said. 
1  Won't  you  have  just  one  more  piece  of  pie,  dears?  ' 
and  then  she  laughed  again ! 

"  There's  two  of  them  little  green  bowls !  My 
great  aunt  gave  them  to  me.  She  said  she  must  have 
owned  'em  full  fifty  years;  they  were  given  to  her 
just  after  she  was  married,  by  a  brother  of  her  hus 
band's  that  was  a  sailor,  a  wild  sort  of  fellow  that 
fetched  'em  home  from  China.  They  look  as  if  they 
were  plain  green  from  here,  but  when  you  hold  'em 
in  the  light  you  see  a  pattern  underneath. 

"  'Twan't  the  aunt  that  brought  me  up ;  'twas  still 
another.  I  was  left  an  orphan  when  I  was  a  baby, 
and  I'd  every  reason  to  be  a  lonesome  person,  but 
'twan't  my  nature." 

"  That's  just  the  way  she  talked — oh  Katie,  you've 
got  it  exactly ! "  interrupted  Frances  Kent,  with 
delight. 

"  No  dears,  'twas  my  other  aunt,"  Miss  Monta 
gue  went  on  reporting,  as  if  she  had  not  been 
interrupted  at  all.  "  My  Aunt  Mally,  that  was  the 
doctor's  wife's  mother  over  to  Jopham  Corners. 
They  went  off  down  to  Meriden  where  he  thought 
he  saw  a  great  opening  for  practice,  but  aunt 
said  she  was  too  old  to  change,  I  don't  know  but 


224  A  House  Party 

they  were  glad;  'twas  her  own  house  at  the 
Corners  and  there  were  times  when  she  made  'em  feel 
it.  One  o  'them  two  green  bowls  was  always  on  the 
mantlepiece  in  her  own  room,  and  folks  were  always 
proposing  that  she  should  put  it  on  the  parlour 
mantlepiece  where  'twould  show,  but  she  never  con 
sented.  She  had  that  bowl  and  a  little  Samuel,  and 
a  bunch  of  feather  flowers  under  a  bell-glass,  be 
tween  them.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  and  went  to 
see  her,  she  used  to  take  a  cent  out  of  one  of  them 
bowls  and  give  it  to  me,  real  pleasant,  and  when  I 
was  grown  up  she  used  to  offer  me  a  hoarhound  drop. 
Aunt  and  me  was  always  good  friends ! '  "  and  Katie 
and  Mrs.  Goddard  were  seen  by  all  the  company  to 
smile  at  each  other. 

"  I  asked  Mrs.  Patton  if  her  aunt  had  been  dead 
a  good  while,  and  she  said  it  was  forty  years." 

Said  Frances  Kent,  "  Somehow  one  feels  as  if  so 
few  things  had  ever  happened  and  as  if  everything 
were  so  tremendously  interesting." 

"  I  began  to  have  a  strange  feeling  about  the  little 
green  bowl  myself,"  acknowledged  Katie,  speaking 
in  a  low  voice.  "  You  see  that  when  we  had  got  up 
from  the  table  I  noticed  that  Mrs.  Patton  kept  look 
ing  at  it  as  if  it  was  somehow  in  her  mind.  We 
helped  her  clear  away  the  breakfast  things,  and  when 
we  had  been  in  the  house  an  hour  one  felt  as  if  it 
had  been  a  week.  After  awhile  she  took  me  by  the 
sleeve  when  Frances  was  putting  away  some  plates 
in  the  cupboard  (somehow  one  always  knew  just 


The  Green  Bowl  225 

where  everything  went),  and  she  whispered  to  me, 
'  I  expect  there's  some  sort  of  charm  about  that 
bowl ! ' 

"  I  wasn't  going  to  have  dear  Frances  left  out  of 
any  pleasure !  "  said  the  speaker,  and  I  called  to  her 
at  once  and  asked  her.  '  Did  you  hear  what  Mrs. 
Patton  says?  There  is  a  charm  about  the  green 
bowl ! '  But  Mrs.  Patton  looked  a  little  disturbed. 

"  I  can't  tell  it  to  but  one,  dear,"  she  said,  and  her 
cheeks  grew  quite  scarlet.  "  Aunt  never  told  it  to 
anybody  but  me :  "  Oh  I  assure  you  it  was  quite 
exciting ! 

"  I  knew  there  must  be  a  story !  "  said  Mrs.  Cros- 
dyck  complacently,  and  she  smoothed  down  her  satin 
dress  as  if  she  wore  an  invisible  apron. 

"  Somehow  the  whole  thing  was  mysterious,"  said 
Frances  Kent,  slowly.  "  First  we  lost  the  road  and 
then  we  heard  the  rooster  crowing  and  could  see  no 
house,  and  thon  we  spent  the  night  in  the  church, 
and  this  strange  little  old  woman  came  to  the  door 
in  "he  morning,  and  we  seemed  to  know  all  about 
each  other  before  we  had  been  together  for  five 
minutes,  and  now  we  had  had  that  wonderful  break 
fast,  and  it  was  all  exactly  as  if  the  green  bowl  had 
something  to  do  with  it;  we  were  all  thinking  of  it 
from  the  first  minute  we  had  entered  her  door!  I 
was  ready  to  burst  with  curiosity,  and  I  said:  Oh 
do  tell  us !  But  she  grew  still  more  scarlet  and  con 
fused  and  caught  up  a  water  pail  from  its  little 
bench,  and  ran  away  to  the  well  to  fill  it. 


226  A  House  Party 

"  Did  you  say  there  were  two  bowls  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Goddard,  smiling  a  little  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  We  never  saw  but  one,"  answered  Katie.  "  Now 
don't  interrupt  me  any  more,  Frances,  if  you  please ! 
You  know  that 

"  I  don't  know  anything,"  retorted  Miss  Kent, 
with  some  spirit.  I  begin  to  believe  that  I  never 
shall !  I  have  always  insisted  that  you  might  tell  me 
what  Mrs.  Patton  told  you !  " 

All  this  time  the  green  bowl  stood  in  plain  sight 
There  was  a  handful  of  pansies  in  it  which  did  not 
hide  its  lovely  outlines  or  its  deep  rich  colour.  All  the 
members  of  the  house  party  were  looking  at  the 
strange  old  piece  of  eastern  ware  with  constantly  in 
creasing  curiosity.  The  fire  had  sprung  afresh  on 
the  hearth  and  a  reflection  of  it  twirled  and  glowed 
on  the  bowl.  Everybody's  attention  was  centered 
upon  this  thing  of  which  hardly  any  one  had  been  in 
the  least  conscious  an  hour  before.  It  had  taken  on 
a  strange  importance. 

"  You  see  it  was  the  one  really  valuable  and 
beautiful  thing  in  that  little  house.  It  shone  like  a 
jewel  on  its  table  between  the  windows  in  the  sun 
that  morning,"  Katie  went  on.  "  You  can't  help 
wondering  about  the  past  experiences  of  a  thing  like 
that,"  and  she  looked  at  the  bowl  with  a  sort  of  ap 
prehensive  interest.  "  The  Sailor  and  the  old  aunt 
and  Mrs.  Patton  make  but  a  short  chapter  of  its  long 
history ;  it  is  a  very  old  bowl  indeed !  " 

"But    the    charm?"    asked    some    one    eagerly. 


The  Green  Bowl  227 

"  Did  Mrs.  Patton  tell  you  the  secret?  Were  there 
really  two  bowls — and  one  held  a  curse  and  the  other 
a  blessing?  " 

"  They  were  for  the  cents  and  the  hoarhound 
drops?  "  suggested  an  eager  listener.  But  the  young 
narrators  looked  at  each  other  with  odd  intentness 
across  the  room  and  did  not  laugh  at  all. 

"  We  had  to  wait  there  for  a  while,"  Miss 
Montague  went  on.  "  Mrs.  Patton  had  been 
watching  all  breakfast  time  for  a  messenger  and 
finally  saw  a  boy  from  the  nearest  house,  the  one 
behind  the  woods  where  we  had  heard  the 
cock  crow,  and  sent  him  for  old  Bob  with  orders 
for  plenty  of  oats  and  water  and  to  rub  him  down 
and  keep  him  until  called  for.  This  was  at  about 
half -past  eight  so  that  Bob  was  not  really  suffering. 
We  kept  thinking  that  he  would  come,  but  it  proved 
later  that  the  wheels  had  wanted  oiling  and  that  the 
good  woman  had  dried  our  blankets  and  everything. 
Mrs.  Patton  looked  more  and  more  cheerful  and  said 
that  she  wished  that  we  had  no  choice  but  to  spend 
the  day  with  her  and  our  loss  of  time  was  her  gain. 
We  said  that  she  must  let  us  help  her  if  we  stayed, 
and  what  was  she  going  to  do  if  we  had  not  been 
there?  Finally  she  confessed  that  she  had  some 
beans  that  she  was  in  a  hurry  to  pick  over  for 
market,  and  send  off,  that  day  or  the  next,  whenever 
they  were  called  for,  and  we  sat  down  together  as 
if  we  had  always  been  work-mates." 

"  Wasn't  it  the  cosiest  thing  you  ever  did  ?    I  am 


228  A  House  Party 

always  thinking  of  it  when  things  are  tiresome/* 
exclaimed  Miss  Kent. 

"  Picking  beans,  how  odd !  "  said  a  scornful  voice, 
but  nobody  seconded  the  scoffer,  while  Mrs.  Cros- 
dyck  asked  with  great  interest  if  there  were  a  cat. 

"  Oh,  yes,  two  enchanting  kittens ! "  cried  the 
teller  with  enthusiasm.  "  But  now  I  must  really  tell 
you  about  the  bowl !  Only  as  Frances  says  there  is  a 
secret." 

She  got  up  from  her  chair  and  went  and  stood  by 
the  table  and  lifted  the  beautiful  old  thing  in  her 
hand  so  that  all  the  company  could  see  it. 

"  It  looks  too  distinguished  to  have  wasted  its 
beauty  in  such  a  house  as  that,"  said  Mrs.  Crosdyck 
who  was  nearest.  "  Look  out,  my  dear,  that  you 
don't  break  it." 

"  Mrs.  Patton  said  that  her  old  aunt  used  to  have 
the  gift  of  telling  fortunes,"  said  Miss  Montague 
solemnly  as  she  still  stood  there  looking  very  eager 
and  handsome.  "  And  we  asked  if  she  couldn't  tell 
fortunes,  too,  as  we  sat  round  the  bushel-basket 
of  beans.  She  seemed  a  little  confused,  and  then 
told  us  that  she  didn't  know  why  she  shouldn't  admit 
it,  the  gift  had  brought  her  more  pain  than  pleasure, 
but  anybody  might  use  the  good  of  any  gift,  and  she 
had  warned  some  folks  of  what  was  coming  so  that 
they  had  been  thankful  to  her  afterward.  "  And 
keeping  my  mind  on  that,"  she  said  impressively, 
"  has  made  me  learn  to  read  folks'  faces  easier  than 
most  people  can.  One  of  our  ministers  went  so  far 


The  Green  Bowl  229 

as  to  say  'twas  a  gift  that  would  lead  me  and  other 
folks  straight  to  the  pit  if  I  continued  its  exercise, 
but  I  made  bold  to  say  it  had  heretofore  seemed  to 
lead  the  other  way  if  I  wasn't  mistaken.'  She 
reached  forward  then  and  rolled  out  the  three  yellow 
apples,  and  took  the  green  bowl  and  looked  at  it 
and  into  it  as  I  have  seen  other  people  looking  into 
crystals,  the  dear  old  thing  was  quite  lost  in  it  and 
I  saw  her  eyelids  quiver  strangely  once  or  twice. 
Frances  and  I  stopped  clicking  the  beans  and 
watched  her.  '  One  o'  you's  been  in  danger  lately, 
she  whispered,  and  the  other's  been  living  in  the 
shadows.  Yes,  I  can  read  it  plain ! '  You  who 
know  us  both  will  know  that  she  spoke  the  truth. 
'  And  you're  going  from  here  to  a  house  near  a  river, 
and  there'll  be  lots  of  folks  there/  so  she  went  on 
and  told  us  nothing  that  was  important,  but  every 
thing  she  said  was  true.  Then  she  told  me  about  my 
uncle's  death  in  a  southern  country  where  the  sun 
was  too  bright,  and  that  his  head  would  suffer, 
and  that  I  would  have  much  more  money,  but  wish 
for  the  one  who  had  loved  me  back  again  and  count 
myself  poor  without  him  instead  of  rich :  there  were 
enough  remarkable  things  to  make  one  respect  Mrs. 
Patton  as  a  seer,  but  she  sat  there  quite  simply  and 
used  her  plain  country  words  while  she  revealed  us, 
to  ourselves  and  to  each  other.  Then  suddenly  she 
gave  herself  a  queer  little  shake  and  seemed  to  wake 
up  into  the  commonplace  world  again.  You  see 
that  there  wasn't  anything  startling  about  it  that 


230  A  House  Party 

she  could  tell,  but  we  saw  plainly  that  she  had  the 

gift." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  that  we  had  her  here !  "  said  one  of 
the  listeners,  "  she  would  tell  all  our  fortunes !  " 

"  But  Miss  Montague  has  been  given  the  power  to 
tell  fortunes;  didn't  you  tell  us  so?  "  urged  another. 

"  Not  on  Sunday,  my  dear,"  commanded  Mrs. 
Goddard  impressively.  "  No,  I  should  never  consent 
to  it!" 

"  I  can  only  tell  you  about  the  two  bowls,  that  is 
really  the  most  interesting  thing  of  all,"  said  Katie 
blushing,  and  looking  a  little  confused.  "  It  seems 
that  the  two  bowls,  the  '  sister  bowls '  she  called 
them,  must  be  kept  by  two  different  persons,  and  the 
other,  which  she  had  kept  for  many  years  was  put 
away  in  the  closet,  only  the  day  before  this  one  had 
come  back  to  her  from  the  other  owner  who  had 
just  died.  And  when  she  saw  me  standing  in  the 
meetinghouse  door  that  morning  she  said  that  she 
knew;  she  had  a  certain  sign  that  made  it  plain  to 
her  that  she  must  give  this  other  green  bowl  to  me. 
She  stood  them  together  on  the  table  and  they  looked 
just  alike.  We  asked  her  how  she  understood  about 
them,  and  she  said  that  her  old  aunt  taught  her  and 
she  would  teach  me;  the  sailor  who  brought  them 
home  to  her  had  been  a  roving  man  and  had  gone 
into  some  far  province  of  China,  and  got  his  strange 
learning  there.  He  had  meant  to  settle  down  and 
be  a  fortune-teller,  and  expected  to  make  a  great  deal 
of  money,  but  after  he  had  told  the  aunt  about  the 


The  Green  Bowl  231 

bowls  and  made  her  his  companion  in  their  mys 
teries,  he  went  away,  only  for  a  day's  journey,  and 
was  killed  by  an  accident.  Now  I  am  Mrs.  Patton's 
'  companion,'  as  she  calls  it;  she  said  that  if  there 
were  not  two  of  us  companions  the  life  of  the  bowls 
would  soon  be  gone.  She  said  one  very  strange 
thing, — the  friend  who  had  kept  it  for  her  had  been 
dead  two  days  but  she  said  she  could  have  waited 
another  day  if  I  had  not  appeared,  that  as  long  as 
the  other  "  companion's  "  soul  was  in  her  body  or 
near  it,  there  was  no  danger.  But  she  was  glad 
when  she  saw  me  and  got  the  sign.  She  said  that 
our  souls  always  stayed  with  our  bodies  a  little 
while  after  we  die." 

"  How  very  strange,"  said  Frances  Kent.  "  But 
somehow  she  did  not  seem  half  so  strange  to  me  at 
the  time  when  we  were  there.  I  sat  picking  over  the 
beans,  not  at  all  excited,  even  when  Mrs.  Patton  took 
Katie  into  the  little  bedroom  and  shut  the  door,  and 
divulged  the  principles  of  magic.  You  certainly  did 
look  a  little  pale  when  you  came  out,  Katie !  " 

"  Can  you  see  things  in  it,  in  the  bowl,  I  mean  ?  " 
one  of  the  guests  asked  hurriedly.  "  Do  you  try 
very  often,  Miss  Montague.  Oh,  please  throw  out 
those  pansies  and  tell  us  something !  " 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  that  it  will  be  broken?  "  some 
careful  soul  inquired. 

"  No,  it  is  the  most  wonderful  thing,  like  some 
precious  stone  or  dull  crystal — I  don't  think  it 
is  any  sort  of  pottery,"  said  its  owner.  "  It 


232  A  House  Party 

made  me  a  little  fidgety  to  see  it  in  my  room  and  I 
brought  it  here.  You  see  that  there  isn't  any  story 
at  all.  I  only  promised  to  give  you  a  plain  account 
of  our  travels,"  she  added  hastily,  for  every  one 
began  to  ask  questions. 

"  I  don't  like  this  revelation  very  much,"  protested 
Mrs.  Goddard.  "  Katie,  my  dear,  you  never  told 
me  so  much  before.  I  have  been  enchanted  at 
having  such  an  exquisite  thing  in  the  house,  but  I 
begin  to  be  a  little  afraid  of  the  green  bowl." 

'*  Mrs.  Patton  said  that  it  was  like  any  other  bowl 
except  for  those  who  could  master  it.  She  was  very 
matter  of  fact,  after  all,"  said  Frances  Kent.  "  There 
we  sat  together  nearly  all  that  long  morning,  and 
grew  to  be  the  best  of  friends.  I  tried  to  make  her 
talk  about  the  bowl  to  me,  but  she  put  on  such  a 
droll  look  and  said  that  I  was  of  the  joking  sort 
like  herself  and  perhaps  she  could  find  some  sort  of 
charm  that  would  be  fit  for  me  before  we  came 
again.  We  were  quite  at  home  together,  I  assure 
you.  She  did  not  talk  much  with  Katie  after  they 
had  their  secret  session.  I  asked  her  all  about  her 
housekeeping." 

Miss  Kent  was  glancing  at  her  friend  as  she  spoke 
who  was  standing  by  the  table  with  the  bowl  in  her 
hand  looking  into  it  as  if  she  had  forgotten  every 
thing  else. 

"  What  is  it,  dear?  "  whispered  Frances  Kent,  as 
she  rose  and  stood  beside  her. 

"  I  just  saw  something  very  strange  like  a  living 


The  Green  Bowl  233 

picture !  "  answered  the  holder  of  the  bowl  softly. 
She  was  turning  it  to  the  light  and  gazing  at  it  with 
a  half-frightened  look  on  her  face.  "  It  is  just  as 
Mrs.  Patton  said :  she  told  me  that  some  day  I  should 
find  that  the  gift  had  come." 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is  that  you  see,"  persisted  her 
friend. 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me  out  loud,  don't  say  anything 
now !  "  begged  Katie,  "  I  saw  two  of  the  people  who 
ire  sitting  here,  they  were  saying  farewell  to  each 
other  like  the  figures  on  a  Greek  vase;  one  of 
them  is  going  to  die.  I  knew  them  at  once,  Frances ! 
I  could  not  go  on  looking — Take  it  away !  put  it  on 
the  table  for  me,  and  don't  let  any  one  suspect  any 
thing!" 

Miss  Kent  crossed  the  broad  hearth  rug  a  little 
unsteadily  and  there  was  a  queer  look  on  her  face 
as  she  put  the  green  bowl  down  on  the  table.  Miss 
Montague,  by  the  fire,  had  stood  still  for  a  moment 
and  then  turned  to  the  great  china  jar  and  lifting  the 
cover  took  out  some  of  Mrs.  Goddard's  treasured 
bits  of  lightwood  to  fling  them  on  the  bright  coals. 

"  She  writes  us  the  most  quaint,  delightful  letters, 
does  Mrs.  Patton,"  said  Miss  Kent,  taking  up  the 
story,  for  some  one  asked  if  anything  were  the  mat 
ter.  "  She  likes  to  have  us  send  her  magazines  and 
stories  to  read.  Oh,  I  assure  you  that  by  the  time 
we  took  the  road  again  late  that  morning  we  were 
the  very  best  of  friends !  " 

"  It  certainly  did  turn  out  very  well,"  pronounced 


234  A  House  Party 

Mrs.  Crosdyck  with  great  amiability,  "  but  I  should 
feel  very  anxious  about  you  if  you  were  girls  of 
mine,  driving  about  in  this  way  in  these  lonely 
places!" 

"  Where  are  you  going  for  your  driving  journey 
this  year,  young  ladies?  "  inquired  an  old  gentleman 
who  had  just  waked  up  from  a  good  nap. 

"  Oh,  first  to  Mrs.  Patton's  again !  "  answered 
Katie  Montague  gallantly.  "  We  have  promised  to 
spend  a  night  at  her  dear  little  house." 

The  bright  firelight  shone  upon  Katie's  face,  but 
she  spoke  with  cheerful  determination  and  instant 
decision,  though  more  than  one  of  the  guests  noticed 
that  she  looked  strangely  pale.  Then  she  rose 
quickly  and  stood  facing  them. 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  "  that  I  shall  have  to  tell 
my  companion  all  that  has  happened  about  the  green 
bowl !  "  But  though  every  one,  even  the  sleepy  old 
gentleman,  begged  to  know  what  had  really  hap 
pened,  Katie  could  not  be  persuaded  to  tell  anything 
more. 

"  Now,  who  next?"  demanded  Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  Here's  Wickam  come  back,"  remarked  a  mas- 
culine,  willing  to  betray  another  to  secure  immunity 
for  himself. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Wickam,  we  thought  you — my  piece 
de  resistance — had  deserted  us." 

"  Only  on  the  principle  that  '  he  who  fights  and 
runs  away,  will  live  to  fight  another  day  '  ",  quoted 
the  young  author.  "  The  truth  is,  Mrs.  Goddard,  I 


The  Green  Bowl  235 

haven't  any  skill  at  telling  a  story — it's  a  faculty 
denied  me — and  as  I  wanted  to  do  my  share,  I 
slipped  upstairs  and  have  brought  back  the  manu 
script  of  a  story  I've  written  while  I've  been  here." 

"  Oh !    Delightful !  "  came  a  chorus. 

"  And  strangely  enough,"  went  on  the  writer,  "  it 
purports  to  have  been  told  under  circumstances 
curiously  like  this  evening,  though  I  finished  it  yes 
terday.  I  have  named  it  THE  BROKEN  STORY," 
he  ended,  or  began,  as  he  unfolded  the  sheets. 


THE   BROKEN   STORY 


«  T  T  was  told,  or  perhaps  I  should  say,  happened, 
I  at  Captain  Tolbert's  one  evening,  when  a  lot 
of  us  had  been  bidden,  and  warned  what  was 
expected  of  us.  It  was  a  regular  l  story-telling 
party/  arranged  in  cold  blood,  several  famous  racon 
teurs  invited  and  everything  arranged  to  make 
things  effective,  open  fire,  lights  turned  down  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  but — well,  as  I  recall  the  evening, 
the  most  prominent  figure  in  my  picture  is  that  of 
the  old  black  man  Mose,  who  tended  the  fire  and 
served  generally. 

I  remember  that  he  made  a  great  deal  of  noise 
with  his  feet.  Every  time  he  came  in  with  a  log 
upon  his  shoulder,  the  story-telling  had  to  stop  a 
moment. 

Mose  looked  like  a  bit  of  realism  out  of  the  old 
South,  as  indeed  he  was.  There  was  about  him  that 
proud  humility  which  comes  from  the  master-re 
specting  servitude  which  dignifies  the  servant. 
There  is  sometimes  an  effusiveness  in  the  carriage  of 
even  silence  itself  which  bespeaks  volubility  on 
draught. 

Captain  Tolbert,  the  host,  had  had  the  register 
turned  off  for  the  occasion  so  that  the  open  fire 
might  have  its  full  value  which  it  never  gets  as  a 
simply  pictorial  feature.  He  recalled  more  than 
one  function  where  suffocating  guests  had  hovered 

236 


The  Broken  Story  237 

about  the  glowing  hearth  only  because  they  knew 
they  were  expected  to  hover. 

"  I  want  this  lib'ry  so  cool  this  evening,"  he  had 
said  to  Mose,  "  that  when  a  man  gets  up  to  tell  a 
story,  he'll  be  mighty  glad  to  stand  befo'  the  fire 
and  get  his  back  wahm,  and  the  ladies,  bless  their 
little  white  shoulders,  why,  they  can  sit  around 
among  the  lamps  and  send  me  for  their  nubias." 

The  Captain  was  a  southerner,  and,  seeing  that  he 
had  travelled  the  world  over  and  lived  in  the  east 
for  a  number  of  years,  he  was  always  surprised  that 
everybody  "  guessed  it  the  first  time,"  when  he 
would  naively  drawl : 

"  Where  do  you  reckon  I  was  bawn  and  raised  ?  " 

Never  mind  which  State  he  came  from.  He 
would  tell  you  that  himself  quickly  enough  and  that 
it  was  "  a  gyarden  spot,"  too,  but  never  under  any 
circumstances  would  he  inform  you  that  he  was  one 
of  its  F.  F's.  And  because  it  was  true.  There  were 
"  signers  "  and  even  a  president  behind  him  and 
Colonial  houses  all  over  his  State,  placarded  for  sale 
now,  most  of  them,  mark  the  ramifications  of  the 
roots  of  his  extensive  family. 

A  man  like  that  need  not  bother  himself  about 
pronunciations  or  money-standards,  even  when  he 
takes  up  his  abode  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
"  gyarden  ".  Tolbert  always  sent  "  home  "  for  his 
razor-back  hams,  his  white  unbolted  corn-meal  and 
his  tobacco,  and  although  he  was  a  bachelor,  living 
alone  in  his  apartments,  the  quantities  of  these  im- 


238  A  House  Party 

portations  to  his  larder  were  sufficient  to  supply  a 
large  family,  and  he  liked  it  to  be  so.  "  Shows  I 
ain't  living  a  narrow  and  selfish  life  "  he  told  him 
self  when  he  ran  his  eye  down  the  bills  and  drew  his 
cheques  in  payment. 

The  Captain  was  fairly  well  to  do,  having  estab 
lished  a  small  business  of  his  own  in  New  York — a 
business  which  afforded  him  the  dignity  of  an  office 
in  which  he  often  congratulated  himself  he  was 
"  his  own  boss."  And  so,  after  tasting  about  during 
the  first  few  years  of  his  residence  here,  "  Sampling 
the  different  sets  "  he  laughingly  expressed  it,  he 
finally  settled  into  a  unique  place  of  his  own  with 
friends  of  all  sorts  and  conditions. 

He  knew  enough  of  the  smart  set  who  would 
have  gladly  launched  him  to  have  spoilt  a  slighter 
fellow.  His  real  name,  which  it  is  a  pity  not  to  give, 
carried  a  good  deal  of  weight  in  an  introduction. 
It  is  printed  in  history  books  for  public  school  chil 
dren  to  study  and  is  found  on  State  maps  even  be 
yond  the  "  gyarden."  Tolbert  was  the  name  of  one 
of  his  ancestors  on  his  mother's  side  and  he  some 
times  said  that  if  he  were  not  a — : — ,  he  would 
"  choose  to  be  a  Tolbert."  So  we  are  giving  him  his 
second  best.  You  will  excuse  my  telling  you  so 
much  of  my  former  host  as  much  of  the  flavour  of 
his  story  depends  upon  it. 

On  the  present  occasion  Tolbert  had  thought  it 
well  to  hint  to  Mose,  that  he  was  expecting  rather 
an  exceptional  company.  It  would  put  the  last  fine 


The  Broken  Story  239 

edge  to  the  old  man's  manner,  the  "  gilt  aidge  "  he 
would  have  called  it  himself. 

So,  while  arranging  the  chairs  in  the  room  earlier 
in  the  evening,  Tolbert  had  let  fall  such  telling  bits 
is  "  This  seat'll  do  for  the  admiral — padded  and  low 
for  him.  He's  a  little  lame,  now.  Oh,  yes,  he's  the 
nan.  Captured  a  whole  fleet  and  didn't  mention  it. 
\nd  the  Dean — let's  see.  He  has  written  so  many 
Dooks  himself,  I'll  try  to  arrange  for  him  to  sit  here, 
lext  these  shelves.  That  top  row  with  the  red  labels 
MI  them  are  all  his.  Oh,  no,  they  are  my  property. 
[  bought  them.  He  just  wrote  them — that's  all. 
\nd  this  funny  little  chair,  I  brought  it  in  for  tiny 
Miss  Hunnicut.  She  is  going  to  bring  her  banjo. 
She  is  so  delicate  and  so  little — it  almost  hides  her 
tfhen  she  plays — you'd  never  think  of  her  as  paint- 
ng  great  pictures.  One  of  hers  is  so  large  that  she 
lad  to  get  up  on  a  step-ladder  to  do  it.  She  decorated 
:he  dome  of  the  capitol  of  her  own  State — yes,  the 
•ound  top,  that's  the  dome.  And  those  camp  chairs, 
he  Croesus  ladies  will  think  it  so  jolly  and  Bohemian 
:o  sit  on  them.  You'll  know  them  by — Oh,  yes, 
:hey  are  very  rich — no,  not  by  their  diamonds — 
>y  their  wraps,  maybe,  when  they  come  in,  all 
nuffledy-fluffledy  and  bumptious  and  scrumptious 
md,  well,  you'll  know  them.  They  found  out  that  I 
vas  to  have  some  really  distinguished  persons  here — 
hat  is  people  who  have  done  things — and  so  they 
•all  it  a  menagery.  They  will  find  you  very  interest- 
ng,  uncle  Mose,  and  they'll  be  mighty  apt  to  ask 


240  A  House  Party 

you  any  number  of  questions,  but  don't  let  them 
embarrass  you." 

"  No,  Sir! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Dey  ain'  gwine 
'barras  me,  no  sirree !  Don'  keer  how  scan'lous  ricli 
dey  is.  Dey  won't  outdo  me  in  manners.  Ef  de} 
put  me  to  it  too  much,  I'll  get  out  my  gilt  aidges  or 
'em,  dat  what  I'll  do.  Is  dey  friends  o'  yourn, 
Cap'n?" 

"  Why,  yes,  I  suppose  they  are — friends  of  mine, 
certainly.  And  they  are  mighty  fine  women,  too. 
One  of  them  pays  for  a  floating  hospital  and  named 
it  after  her  grandfather  and  another — well,  they're 
both  kind;  let  their  names  be  used  in  any  old  show 
that  society  folks  are  getting  up  for  causes »  Yes, 
cert'n'y,  they  are  friends  of  mine.  But  they  had 
to  ask  to  be  invited  all  the  samee.  I  should  scarcely 
have  thought  of  them  otherwise." 

The  old  man  drew  up  his  lips  as  if  to  whistle. 

"  Hew-wee !  "  You  don't  sesso !  Axed  to  come, 
is  dey?  You  better  look  out  an'  not  do  nothin.'  tc 
look  like  you  meant  to  th'ow  it  up  to  'em.  Dey 
mought  git  dey  feelin's  hurted.  Dey  sho'  must  a1 
thunk  a  heap  o'  you,  dey  sho'  must." 

Of  course  I  had  all  this  from  Tolbert  afterward. 


"  I've  been  noticing  your  old  man,  here,  Tolbert," 
said  the  blonde  man  whom  they  all  called  the  poet. 
(They  called  him  so  on  account  of  his  temperament 
and  his  hair.  He  never  wrote  anything.) 


The  Broken  Story  241 

"  I've  been  noticing  the  old  fellow  "  he  repeated, 
"  And  my  opinion  is  that  if  we  could  induce  him  to 
tell  it,  he  could  give  us  the  story  of  the  evening. 
The  fact  is,  he  is  a  story — incarnate.  He  is  per 
fectly  delightful." 

"  Yes,  isn't  he  delicious  ?  "  exclaimed  the  second 
Croesus  lady,  "  Where  did  you  trap  him,  Captain?  " 

"  I  found  him — met  him,"  Tolbert  replied,  look 
ing  at  the  poet  and  barely  acknowledged  the  last 
question,  "  I  met  him  one  day  going  down  Fifth 
Avenue — saw  him  shift  his  weight  from  one  foot  to 
the  other  and  bend  with  great  difficulty  to  pick  up 
a  rose  which  some  one  had  dropped  on  the  side 
walk.  He  had  secured  the  flower  and  holding  it  in 
his  hand,  stood  with  his  face  buried  in  it  when  I 
spoke  to  him. 

I  saw  that  his  eyes  were  closed  and,  mischievously 
thinking  to  startle  him,  standing  thus  dreaming  over 
a  flower  in  the  midst  of  the  crowded  throng,  I 
said: 

"  Hello,  uncle  Mose!" 

For  answer,  he  only  put  forth  a  hand  detaining 
me.  But  when  in  two  minutes,  I  should  say — it 
seemed  ten — he  opened  his  eyes  and  clutched  my 
sleeve,  he  exclaimed,  scanning  my  face: 

"  Wh — wh — which  one  is  you,  any  how?  " 

There  was  something  in  the  face  and  the  voice 
which  drove  the  mischief  out  of  me  with  a  whiff, 
and  I  answered,  respectfully : 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  anybody  in  particular.    I  just  spoke 


242  A  House  Party 

to  you  because  I  saw  you  pick  up  the  rose.  I  love 
roses,  too/' 

"  But  de  name!  How'd  you  know  my  name?  " 
He  still  held  me. 

I  was  ashamed  to  tell  him  that  I  had  even  for 
gotten  what  name  had  come  to  my  lips  as  I  accosted 
him.  But  while  I  hesitated,  he  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  How'd  you  know  dey  called  me  Mose — an' 
Uncle  Mose,  at  dat  ?  What  mek  you  call  me  dat — 
ef  you  don'  know  who  I  is  ?  " 

"  Really,  I  do  not  know,  uncle  "  I  replied  in  all 
candour."  I  suppose  I  said  Mose  because  it  rhymed 
with  nose — or  rose."  This  silly  answer  which  came 
of  itself  without  any  conscious  volition  amused  me  in 
its  very  inanity  and  I  added,  playfully,  now : 

"  I  suppose  if  I  had  found  you  smelling  a  lily,  I'd 
have  called  you  Uncle  Billy." 

But  my  frivolity  found  no  answering  note  in  the 
old  man's  mood. 

"  I  wouldn't  break  my  old  back  to  pick  up  no  lily," 
he  replied,  stolidly,  regarding  the  rose  again,  "  but 
dis  joint  o'  battles — I  don't  see  'em  every  day,  deze 
days.  Why,  I  done  smelt  deze  red  roses  in  my  sleep 
when  I  dreamed  de  old  days  back  ag'in.  We-all's 
gyarden  was  red  an'  sweet  wid  'em.  Used  to  gether 
'em  every  day  wid  de  dew  on  'em  for  my  yong 
Mistus,  an'  standin'  heah,  in  de  mids'  o'  forgitful- 
ness,  an'  smellin'  back  de  ole  days,  when  I  heah  my 
name  call-t  dat-a-way,  I  dassent  open  my  eyes  too 
quick.  I'd  'a'  fell  down." 


The  Broken  Story  243 

"  Of  course  I  fetched  the  old  darkie  home  with  me. 
What  else  was  a  southerner  to  do?  Especially,  a 
southerner  with — with  a  rose  jar  like  this/' 

As  he  spoke,  the  Captain  tipped  back  his  chair 
and  reaching  behind  him,  lifted  from  his  smoking- 
table  a  small  jar.  It  was  a  curious  squat-shaped  af 
fair,  tinted  a  deep  brown  shaded  to  orange  and  with 
a  picture  of  a  live  pipe  on  one  side — that  is  a  pipe 
with  a  glowing  fire  in  its  smoking  bowl  which 
was  represented  as  held  by  two  fingers  which  dis 
appeared  in  the  shading.  The  work  was  remarkably 
well  done  if  it  was  a  bit  amateurish.  He  lifted  the 
cover  as  he  passed  it  around  and  while  his  guests 
smelt  and  admired  it,  he  secured  a  pipe  by  a  second 
backward  stretch  and  when  the  jar  came  back  to  him, 
he  held  the  pipe  in  his  left  hand  against  the  picture. 

"  Recognise  it?"  he  said. 

"  Sure !  "  exclaimed  several  voices  at  once. 

"  Got  your  fingers  down  fine,  even  to  that  daisy 
mole  against  your  thumb  joint,  damn'f  they  didn't!  " 

This  last  was  spoken  close  to  his  ear  by  the  man 
who  wrote  that  article  on  "  Lingual  Florescence." 
And  so,  it  was  in  an  aside  to  this  same  ear  that  Tol- 
bert  said  in  replying : 

"  No  '  dam'f  they's '  about  this,  if  you  please. 
She  painted  it." 

"  And  it's  demnition  pretty,"  persisted  the  neigh 
bour,  "  but  why,  in  kingdom  come,  don't  you  put 
tobacco  in  it?  I'll  give  you  a  rose  jar  if  you 
want  one — honest  Injun.  I've  got  a  bully  one — 


244  A  House  Party 

genuine  thing,  came  from  Sharon  or  Attar  or 
wherever  the  real  things  come  from  and  it's  jolly." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Joe,  but  I  reckon  we'll 
keep  this  as  it  is.  I  don't  know  why  I  brought  it 
out — or  spoke  of  it.  I  have  never  done  so  before. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  genial  company — or  the  fire — or 
the  storm  outside.  I'm  mighty  glad  it  stormed  since 
you-all  were  good  enough  to  come.  The  story-tell 
ing  spirit  always  sneaks  in  out  of  the  snow  on 
nights  like  this  and  hangs  around  the  open  fire.  See 
those  logs  on  the  old  man's  shoulder,  full  of  snow. 
Why  hasn't  some  one  asked  me  how  they  came  to  be 
snowed  on — snowed  on,  in  a  New  York  cellar?  " 

"  I  was  wondering  about  that  when  he  came  in 
before,"  said  the  Dean,  but  you  and  your  rose  jar 
were  so  fascinating  that  our  interest  in  unexplained 
snow-flakes  melted  with  them.  But  do  tell  us  about 
these,  before  they,  too,  are  gone." 

"Shall  I  tell  on  you,  uncle  Mose?"  Tolbert 
laughed,  addressing  the  old  negro  who  turned 
quickly  and  smiling  and  bowing,  answered : 

"  Why,  cert'n'y,  Sir — cert'n'y,  Sir.  Ef  you 
choose,  Sir.  Hit's  de  reel  God  A'mighty  snow.  I 
didn't  mek  it.  Tain't  none  o'  mine !  " 

"  Indeed,  it  is  real  snow  "  said  Tolbert,  "  I  can 
testify  to  that.  Why,  gentlemen — ladies  and  gentle 
men,  I  should  say — uncle  Mose  has  had  those  logs 
out  in  the  fire-escape  all  day,  getting  them  well 
sprinkled  over,  so  that,  as  he  said,  he  could  '  fetch 
in  weather-repo'ts  on  his  shoulder '  as  he  used  to  do 


The  Broken  Story  245 

in  old  times.  He  contends  that  a  snow-covered  log 
makes  a  cheery  fire  and  a  merry  company.  And  I 
rather  liked  the  idea." 

"  So  it  do,"  said  Mose,  bowing  apologetically, 
"  So  it  do.  A  snow-kivered  log'll  wek  up  de  fun- 
devil  quicker'n  anything — les'n  it's  a  late-comer, 
snowed  over." 

"  And  here  we  have  both  "  said  Tolbert,  as  he 
rose  to  greet  a  guest  who  was  mischievously  exhibit 
ing  a  snow-sprinkled  back  at  the  door  before  taking 
off  his  top-coat. 

"  Nothing  like  being  popular,"  he  called  out, 
"  Cap'n  sends  out  permission  cards  and  here  we  all 
are,  every  mother's  son  of  us,  neither  rain  nor 
shine." 

"  Knew  you'd  be  here,  that's  why  "  retorted  Tol 
bert,  "  been  waiting  for  you  this  hour  past,"  and  as 
he  presently  brought  him  in,  he  added. 

"  We  were  just  saying — that  is  my  man,  uncle 
Mose,  here,  was  telling  us  that  there's  nothing  like  a 
belated  snowed-over  guest  to  start  up  the  fun-devils. 
So  you  are  even  more  valuable  to  us  than  those 
snow-sprinkled  logs  that  he's  chuckling  over  as  he 
lays  them  on  the  coals." 

As  the  two  approached  the  hearth  and  the  old 
man  bowed  himself  away,  he  laughed: 

"  Jes,  listen  at  de  jokes  a-poppin'  an'  see  dem  white 
logs  fling  out  challenges  at  de  late-comer.  Joy  won't 
wait  for  de  mornin'  now !  " 

"  But  the  tobacco-jar,"  exclaimed  a  voice  behind 


246  A  House  Party 

the  samovar,  with  irrelevant  insistence,  "  Don't  let 
us  forget  that." 

"  Oh,  bother  the  tobacco- jar,"  mused  Tolbert, 
stroking  his  knees  at  the  fire.  But  he  recovered  him 
self,  quickly. 

"  Well  " ,  he  smiled  genially. 

And  rising  he  went  back  to  his  old  place. 

"  Since  I  have  opened  the  door — "  he  resumed, 
half  sadly — "  since  I've — but  really,  there's  nothing 
particular  to  tell.  I  said  she  painted  it.  I  suppose 
there's  a  '  she '  in  every  good  man's  life,  even  if  it 
be  only  a  hovering  influence — a  memory,  or  a  hope. 
Mine — is  a  memory, — and  she  wore  Giant  of  Battles 
roses — in  the  good  old  days  before  the  invasion  of 
the  Jacques  which  have  since  possessed  the  gardens. 
Really,  that's  about  all.  Yes,  she  painted  the  to 
bacco-jar.  I  said  she  did.  It  is  a  bit  realistic,  as 
you  say,  even  to  that  foolish  little  mole  which  she 
playfully  declared  she  painted  in  only  for  identifica 
tion." 

It  sits  on  my  table — where  she  intended  that  it 
should  sit — but  it  will  always  hold  red  rose-leaves. 
That—" 

He  pointed  to  a  miniature  upon  the  wall. 

"  That  is  her  picture.  The  leaves  of  that  very 
rose  she  wears  in  her  hair  went  first  into  the  jar — 
yes " 

"  She  was  very  beautiful,"  interrupted  a  very  tall, 
very  young  girl  who  had  risen  to  examine  the  ivory 
bit. 


The  Broken  Story  247 

"  Yes,— she— is/'  said  Tolbert,  thoughtfully. 
"  That — this — is  my  story-corner  "  he  hastened  to 
add,  indicating  with  a  sweep  of  his  arm,  a  group  of 
things  upon  the  wall. 

11  You  say  she  is  beautiful  ?  "  The  question  came 
from  a  slender  blonde  who  did  not  look  vicious — she 
was  not.  There  appears  to  be  in  every  company 
one  person  at  least  of  whom  the  present  amiable 
lady  was  a  type,  one  whose  curiosity  has  just  the 
vulgar  edge  which  carries  it  a  little  too  far — and 
which  cuts  as  it  goes.  They  have  to  be  snubbed  and 
snubbing  is  a  delicate  art,  to  be  attempted  only  by 
the  finely  bred. 

"  Yes,  I  said  is/'  replied  Tolbert,  with  an  amiable 
inclination  of  his  head  toward  the  speaker,  and  then 
he  added,  smiling  bla'ndly : 

"  And  then,  I  think  I  was  saying  that  this  is  my 
story-corner,  Miss  Carlington  " — still  addressing  the 
blonde — "  I  had  not  thought  of  it  before,  that  is  I 
had  not  consciously  made  it  so — I  hate  '  collections  ' 
and  cozy-corners  are  my  abomination — and  yet,  as  I 
look  it  over,  I  realise  that  every  article  in  this  little 
nook — it  nooked  itself,  mind,  I  didn't  nook  it — 
every  article  in  it  has  other  value  than  that  which  we 
call  intrinsic.  Indeed,  if  everything  here  was  given 
speech  and  memory — and  precedence  to  us — we 
should  not  have  a  chance  to  get  out  our  little  stories 
for  a  week — or  at  all,  maybe.  You  see,  one  story 
involves  another  and  we  should  have  to  listen,  not 
only  to  the  tales  themselves,  but  to  replies  from — let's 


248  A  House  Party 

see:  There  would  be  a  hopping  denial  from  King 
Edward  to  what  that  scarab  would  tell — a  thrilling 
retort  from  a  Spanish  nobleman  who  died  on  a  boat 
up  the  Nile.  Yes,  that  pointed  basket  would  tell  that 
story.  I  got  it  there,  myself.  No,  he  didn't  give 
it  to  me.  He  never  saw  it.  He  was  hunting  for  a 
lady  who  was  hunting  for  it  when  I  found  it.  No, 
she  had  never  seen  it,  either,  and  no,  I  never  saw 
her.  Indeed,  I  am  not  quite  certain  that  there  was 
a  lady  in  the  case.  The  only  thing  I  am  sure  about 
is  the  basket  and  there  it  is — but  the  whole  situation 
was  very  suspicious.  It  is  said  that  the  basket  is 
haunted  and  that  the  lady  and  the  nobleman  are  its 
spooks.  Yes,  it  is  a  curious  story,  but  it  is  too  long 
for  now.  Then,  there  is  the  story  of  that  little  bead 
bag  with  the  silver  top  with  the  snake  design.  That 
is  Dutch,  but  I  bought  it  from  a  Spanish  gipsy  who 
told  our  fortunes  from  the  back  of  her  wagon  at 
Niagara — told  them  in  a  strong  Irish  brogue.  Oh, 
yes,  gipsies  often  have  brogues,  and, — certainly, 
those  are  real  cannon-balls  on  the  bracket.  Every 
thing  here  is  real — even  to  my  old  man,  Mose.  He 
isn't  gotten  up  for  the  occasion,  I  assure  you.  And 
that  baby's  shoe  with  the  rifle-ball  through  it — that 
was  found  in  the  breast-pocket  of  a  grey-coat  after 
Chickamauga.  Yes,  that  stain  is — what  it  seems. 
Of  course,  that  isn't  a  story  for  now,  either."  Then 
adroitly  changing  the  subject  he  turned  to  Le  Few 
who  was  examining  something  under  a  lamp.  "  I'll 


The  Broken  Story  249 

be  bound  for  you,  Le  Few,  to  pick  out  an  interesting 
relic,"  he  laughed. 

"  This  is  interesting  "  Le  Few  answered  without 
looking  up,  "  This  little  old  frame  with  the  faded 
scrap  in  it,  torn  in  half,  I  should  say — interests  me 
exceedingly.  I  believe  if  I  were  given  my  choice, 
I  should  say  let  us  have  the  story  of  this  little  docu 
ment.  It  seems  to  be  part  of  a  legal  paper  of  some 
sort.  Yes,  I'll  even  go  so  far  as  to  admit  that  I'd 
rather  listen  to  the  story  of  this  than  to  one  of  my 
own — which  is  saying  a  good  deal." 

Everybody  laughed  at  this  for  they  all  knew  Mr. 
Le  Few's  stories  and  they  liked  them,  over  and  over, 
as  they  liked  him. 

"  That  belt  with  all  the  stars  on  it — hanging  there 
on  the  Dutch  lamp — is  interesting "  said  Jamie 
Hodge.  Hodge  was  one  of  the  wittiest  of  men  and 
a  casual  remark  like  this  from  him  was  a  disappoint 
ment.  While  they  wondered  where  the  joke  was 
hiding,  Le  Few  said: 

"  Sounds  as  if  you  might  be  referring  to  Orion — 
talking  about  stars  in  a  belt." 

"  So  it  does,"  said  Hodge,  "  And  talking  about 
Orion  reminds  me  of  O'Brien.  Have  you  heard  that 
story  about  Barry  O'Brien?  It's  a  sort  of  astro 
nomical  affair ;  that  is  it  is  the  story  of  a  star.  Her 
name  in  private  life  is  Lydia  Lumpkins,  I  believe 
and  she  is  with  the  Hiatus  Stock  Company." 

"  That  story  has  three  current  versions,  to  my 


250  A  House  Party 

knowledge,  friend  Hodge,"  said  Le  Few,  and  two  of 
them  at  least  would  need  expurgating  before  you 
could  offer  them.  So,  suppose  we  decline  to  allow 
a  man  of  your  reputation  to  take  any  of  this  eve 
ning's  precious  time  in  telling  fragmentary  tales/' 

"  Very  well,"  said  Hodge,  "  It'll  be  your  loss.  I 
was  going  to  tell  only  the  expurgations — but  I  won't 
do  it  now,  just  for  spite." 

"  Oh,  do.  How  great !  "  exclaimed  the  middle 
Croesus  lady.  "  Oh,  I  am  having  such  a  good  time ! 
If  I  could  only  put  some  of  these  things  down.  I'll 
be  sure  to  forget  them.  Suppose  we  choose  things 
to  remember  "  whispered  her  friend  on  the  left.  "  I'll 
remember  about  the — and  you'll — but  wait,  they're 
going  again."  It  was  Le  Few  and  they  knew  him  well. 

"  Talking  about  astronomy  "  he  began,  "  what 
of  that  big  dipper  hanging  under  the  mando 
lin.  Or,  no,  not  what  about  it,  either?  I  have 
chosen  my  story.  I  want  to  hear  about  the  old  paper. 
A  man  of  less  discernment  than  myself  might  choose 
the  dipper  story.  Some  one  drank  out  of  it,  I  sup 
pose.  I  have  never  been  interested  in  drinking 
people,  myself." 

As  he  spoke,  he  slyly  but  quite  publicly  pushed  his 
glass  toward  the  decanter  of  Cognac.  Of  course, 
everybody  laughed.  People  always  laugh  at  any  jest 
about  drinking  and  they  always  laugh  when  Le  Few 
opens  his  mouth.  And,  as  to  the  latter,  be  it  said, 
they  generally  laugh  with  good  reason. 

"  Yes,"   said  the   host,    passing  around   the   old 


The  Broken  Story  251 

gourd,  "  somebody  drank  out  of  it.  The  old  one- 
armed  Confederate  soldier  who  sold  it  to  me  said 
that  he  saw  Jef  Davis  drink  out  of  it,  and  that 
he  then  made  it  his  business  to  tote  it  around 
and  got  all  the  notables  to  use  it.  He  swore  that 
General  Lee  and  General  Custer  and  General  Grant 
and  Abe  Lincoln  all  drank  out  of  it  besides  Jef 
Davis  and  that  one  spirited  southern  lady  refused 
to — because  of  its  mixed  associations.  Charged  me 
twenty-five  cents  apiece  for  the  drinkers  and  threw 
in  the  dipper  for  good  measure — for  '  Ian-yap,1  as 
they  say  in  New  Orleans.  Cost  me  a  dollar  and  a 
half— this  old  gou'd  did." 

"  You  mean  a  dollar  and  a  quarter." 

"  No,  I  mean  what  I  say,  a  dollar  and  a  half.  I 
insisted  on  paying  for  the  lady  who  refrained.  I 
dote  on  a  spunky  woman.  Why,  I've  had  twice  the 
fun  thinking  about  that  woman  that  all  the  rest  to 
gether  have  given  me." 

"  I  am  surprised  to  think  you  were  so  easily 
gulled,  Tolly  "  said  young  Holt. 

"  I  wasn't  gulled,  as  you  call  it — not  at  all," 
laughed  the  host.  "  The  fact  is  the  old  fellow  was 
in  a  bad  way,  all  ragged  and  pretty  thirsty,  and  a 
dollar  and  a  half  was  enough  to  make  him  entirely 
happy  for  a  while  and  I  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to 
give  it  to  him.  I  think  it  likely  that  Jef  Davis  did 
drink  out  of  the  old  gou'd.  The  soldier  was  a  Hous 
ton  chap,  and  Davis  had  been  down  there  a  short  time 
before.  But  perhaps  the  real  reason  I  bought  it  was 


252  A  House  Party 

this:  I  knew  that  Davis  drank  from  one  well  in 
Houston  for  my  mother's  brother,  uncle  John  Tol- 
bert,  entertained  him  and  he  not  only  cut  a  fresh 
gou'd  for  the  president  to  drink  from,  but  he  saved 
the  piece  and  he  gave  it  to  me — and  I've  got  it  yet. 
Now,  when  I  bought  that  drinking-gou'd,  I  was 
fairly  dizzy  with  excitement  hoping  that  my  little 
cap  would  fit,  or  nearly  fit.  It  would  have  been  a 
curious  coincidence." 

"  But  it  didn't?  "  said  a  chorus. 

"  No  of  course  not.  They  never  do.  This  world 
is  a  fair  and  alluring  field  of  misfits." 

"  Speaking  of  misfits,"  said  Le  Few,  "  Or  of  fits, 
perhaps  I  should  say,  we  have  been  anxiously  hoping 
that  you  would  tell  us  that  the  young  mistress  who 
wore  the  '  Joint  of  battles  '  roses  whose  perfume 
has  followed  your  old  man'  life,  proved  to  be  the 
same  as  your  lady  of  the  rose-jar.  That  would  make 
a  pretty  story." 

"  Pretty,  yes,  but  not  true.  No,  if  the  old  man 
suspects  that  I  cherish  more  than  a  general  asso 
ciation  with  the  rose  that  reigned  in  many  a  south 
ern  garden  a  generation  ago,  he  has  given  no 
sign  of  it.  He  knows  of  the  rose  leaves  in  my  to 
bacco-jar,  too,  for  I  showed  them  to  him.  I  even 
told  him  that  our  common  love  for  the  giant  of 
by-gone  days  was  his  first  real  attraction  to  me,  and 
when  I  found  him  reticent  though  pleased,  I  en 
gaged  him.  If  he  had  told  a  fairy-tale,  I  should  not 
have  been  so  much — well,  I  might  have  been  as 


The  Broken  Story  253 

much  attracted,  too,  but  differently.  There  is  noth 
ing  finer  than  the  dignity  of  reticence.  We  know 
that  we  love  the  red  roses  and  we  ask  each  other 
no  questions.  He  came  from  another  State  than 
mine,  in  the  far  south. 

"  No,  we  met  upon  the  ground  of  pure  human 
sympathy  only.  I  found  that  he  was  alone.  He 
knew  the  every-day  home  ways  of  a  southern  man 
and  was  glad  to  come.  And  now,  I  suspect 
that  his  old  heart  is  beginning  to  send  out  tendrils 
to  me  and  I  find  myself  continually  dodging  them. 
I  fear  the  tearing  away.  I  am  a  coward  when  it 
comes  to  the  emotions.  You  know  the  old  Virginia 
Creeper,  how  it  commits  itself  in  attachment,  insidi 
ously  thrusting  real  roots  into  any  old  cranny  and 
trusting  it  utterly.  Well,  such  is  an  old  negro's 
devotion.  He  is  a  human  Virginia  creeper. 

"  No,  as  I  have  said,  the  old  man's  roses  and 
mine  were  only  of  the  same  variety,  that  is  all.  They 
are  not  often  '  the  same  roses  '  in  life."  And  then 
he  added,  as  he  glanced  at  the  miniature,  "  I  said  she 
is  beautiful."  But  he  smiled  genially  as  he  turned 
to  Le  Few : 

"  Do  let  me  fill  your  glass,  Le  Few.  And  pardon 
my  talking  so  long.  He  is  a  brave  man,  indeed,  who 
holds  the  floor  in  your  presence." 

"  I  should  be  too  glad  to  have  it  held  indefinitely, 
if  only  I  might  make  this  old  paper  speak  from  its 
frame." 

Le  Few  still  held  the  little  document  and  was 


254  A  House  Party 

examining  it.  "  It  seems  to  be  a  county  license — 
if  I  am  a  judge  of  license/'  he  added  jocosely. 

"  A  maker  of  law  ought  to  know  its  antithesis  " 
laughed  a  man  against  the  mantel. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Le  Few,  "  at  any  rate  he 
ought  to  know  how  to  read  English  words  of  two 
syllables.  I  see  the  words  '  license  '  and  '  parish/ 
here,  quite  distinctly,  though  they  are  dimmed  with 
time.  There  is  also  a  date  which  appears  to  be 
184-.  I  can't  make  out  the  last  figure,  but  that 
brings  it  into  the  forties  which  is  near  enough.  Vital 
things  were  happening  to  some  of  us  in  the  forties." 

"  Yes,  some  of  us  were  being  born." 

This  made  a  laugh  because  it  was  spoken  by  a 
brave  woman  who  had  never  married. 

"  They  were  the  period  of  my  courting  days  as 
your  old  man  would  say  "  said  Le  Few,  "  Everything 
seems  to  have  been  pink  as  I  look  back  to  the  years 
between  forty  and  fifty — even  forty-nine  which  I 
suppose  ought  to  appear  yellow  with  the  hue  of  gold 
ore.  But  speaking  of  this  delightful  curio,  here — 
for  even  a  common  document  becomes  a  curio  when 
it  is  torn  in  half  and  framed  and  hung  in  a  historic 
corner — I  should  say  that  the  use  of  the  word 
1  parish  '  instead  of  county  probably  places  it  in 
Louisiana.  You  know  the  old  Franco-Spanish- 
American  State  is  still  divided  into  '  parishes.'  I 
venture  to  guess,  Tolbert,  that  this  is  part  of  an  old 
marriage  license  issued  'way  back  in  the  forties 
in  Louisiana.  Am  I  right?  " 


The  Broken  Story  255 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you  are  right.  It  was  called  a 
license  when  it  was  issued,  although  the  incident 
in  its  history  which  mutilated  it,  changed  its  char 
acter  somewhat.  I  know  only  the  main  fact  of  its 
history  and  yet,  I  should  not  part  with  it  for  any 
thing  on  earth.  It  is  barely  possible  that  there  is  a 
man  living  to  whom  I  should  be  glad  to  surrender 
it,  if  I  were  to  meet  him,  but  that  contingency  is 
too  remote  to  be  considered.  It  seems  strange  to  me 
sometimes  that  there  are  not  more  of  what  we  call 
coincidences  in  life  in  its  important  affairs,  seeing 
how  often  because  of  some  trivial  surprise  meeting 
we  are  moved  to  exclaim  '  How  small  the  world  is, 
after  all ! '  Why,  for  instance,  might  I  not  expect  to 
meet  the  one  man  to  whom  I  am  commissioned  to 
surrender  that  poor  little  scrap  ?  " 

The  old  man  was  coming  in  with  a  log  and 
Tolbert  waited  for  him  to  lay  it  on  the  fire. 
Then,  seeing  him  take  the  hearth-broom  he  went 
on: 

"  No,  I  don't  know  anything  beyond  the  mere 
fact  of  that  paper's  meaning.  It  belonged  to  my  old 
black  mammy,  the  woman  who  was  my  second 
mother — my  own  died  before  I  can  remember — she 
who  taught  me  my  prayers  and  my  superstitions  and 
whom  I  hope  to  meet  again  in  the  better  country — 
if  I  am  '  a  good  boy.' 

"  She  spoke  of  it  as  her  divorce  paper — or  rather 
her  '  divo'cement  paper ' — and  such  to  all  intent  it 
was  to  her. 


256  A  House  Party 

"  So  she  called  it  when,  dying,  she  laid  it  in  my 
hand." 

"  How  very  pathetic !  "  exclaimed  a  stout  old  lady 
near  the  fire — a  lady  whose  fan,  lying  upon  her 
short  lap  always  danced  when  she  laughed  and  fell 
to  the  floor  when  she  coughed. 

Tolbert  picked  up  the  fan  and  presented  it  to  her 
with  the  sort  of  bow  that  is  pleasing  to  ladies  of  this 
stage — and  then  he  coughed,  too — a  slight  confession 
of  controlled  amusement  in  the  situation  with,  per 
haps,  some  embarrassment  in  the  meagerness  of  his 
story,  for  his  next  words  were: 

"  Really,  I  wish  I  knew  more  about  the  old  paper 
—to  tell  you." 

"  Tell  us  all  you  know." 

«  Surely " 

"  Well,  if  you  are  in  earnest,  I  shall  be  pleased 
to  tell  it ;  but  remember,  that  I  warn  you.  The  story 
is  like  the  old  document  itself — torn  in  half.  It  is  a 
broken  story  and  I  know  one  end  of  it  only.  You 
mustn't  complain  when  I  stop  short." 

"•Go  on — go  on." 

"  Well  " 

"  And  this  half  story  must  do  in  place  of  any  whole 

story  I  might  tell ?  That  must  be  a  bargain. 

A  host  can't  assemble  such  a  lot  of  raconteurs  as  I 
have  succeeded  in  coralling  here  this  evening  and 
do  all  the  talking  himself.  Look  at  Jamie  Hodge 
over  yonder  and  Luke  Crane  ready  to  burst  with 


The  Broken  Story  257 

tales  that  are  literature  and  art — and  having  to  listen 
while  I  haul  in  a  crippled  bit  out  of  real  life — a 
story  that  came  into  my  hand  well  under  way  and 
which  ended  in  the  middle.  Did  it  ever  strike  you, 
by  the  way,  that  that  is  the  worst  place  for  a  story 
to  break  off?  In  the  beginning  when  the  appetite 
is  just  finely  whetted — or  toward  the  end  when 
culminations  are  imminent — at  these  extremes  a 
story  is  charged  with  electric  currents  and  there  is 
something  fine  in  the  very  flash  of  disconnec 
tion." 

"  Never  mind  about  the  flash "  drawled  Luke 
Crane — "  go  ahead  with  the  current.  If  you  don't, 
some  of  the  rest  of  us  here  will  take  the  blooming 
business  out  of  your  hand.  I  need  a  beginning  for 
my  story.  The  end  is  all  right;  but  it  hasn't  any 
start.  And  I  just  see  how  I  could  take  your  scrubbly 
little  document  here  and  make  it  lead  up  to  my 
finish.  So  hurry  along,  if  you  don't  want  to  lose 
it." 

"  And  I,"  said  Le  Few,  "  Was  just  thinking  out 
a  dandy  finish  to  it.  You  know  that  huckleberry 
pie  story?  Well,  I  was  thinking  how  interestingly 
I  could  make  it  end  with  a  divorce-paper." 

"  You  want  to  adapt  everything  to  modern  so 
ciety  "  said  the  Scotchman  Fergus,  who  had  made 
himself  felt  from  time  to  time  by  his  attentions  to 
Tolbert's  dog.  "  However,"  he  added,  "  I  can't  say 
that  I  think  you  would  have  very  much  scope.  The 
way  from  huckleberry  pie  to  a  divorce  might  easily 


258  A  House  Party 

be  short — if  the  pie-lady  should  happen  to  be  in 
sistent." 

"  You  don't  like  huckleberries  evidently.  Per 
haps  they  would  appeal  to  you  more  as  '  Blue  b'ries  ' 
as  I  believe  your  people  call  them." 

"  No/'  said  the  Scot,  "  I  don't  like  huckleberries. 
I  don't  like  anything  that  turns  my  cream  into  ink." 

"  I  am  surprised — and  you  a  literary  man,"  said 
Hodge.  "  I  should  suppose  that  anything  which 
ended  in  ink  would  be  acceptable  to  the  likes  of 
you." 

"  No  "  puffed  Fergus,  lighting  his  pipe,  "  I  am 
obliged  to  turn  my  ink  into  cream — or  do  without 
cream — and  I  do  not  like  to  see  my  methods 
reversed." 

"  I  suppose  I  am  foolish  to  consent  to  talk  about 
this  paper  seriously  "  interrupted  the  host,  "  for  the 
fact  is,  I  am  a  little  sensitive  about  it.  While  there 
is  not  the  slightest  breach  of  confidence  in  my  telling 
you  what  I  know  of  it,  I  shall  have  to  ask  your 
respectful  attention." 

You  see  where  it  has  hung.  The  miniature  above 
it  is  one  of  which  I  have  already  spoken.  The  two 
others  in  the  group  are  of  my  parents.  So  you 
understand  how  I  feel  about  old  mammy's  Divo'ce- 
ment  paper. 

Yes,  the  large  portrait  in  the  alcove  is  hers.  It 
was  painted  by  Brooks  who,  you  remember,  painted 
"The  Pastor's  Visit",  now  in  the  Corcoran  art 
gallery.  It  is  a  fine  portrait — true  to  the  life.  She 


The  Broken  Story  259 

insisted  upon  the  open  Bible  in  her  lap.  Always 
made  me  find  the  page  with  "  Many  mansions  "  on 
it — and  laid  her  finger  there,  though  she  could  not 
read  a  word.  She  was  very  proud.  Oh,  yes,  Uncle 
Mose  has  great  respect  for  the  picture.  He  keeps 
it  dusted  off,  and  one  day  when  he  didn't  know  I  was 
around,  I  saw  him  lift  his  hat  to  it.  He  says  he 
"  s'lutes  her  settin'  up  in  all  that  grandeur,  and 
studies  about  another  lady."  As  you  said  a  while 
ago,  he  has  his  story,  too,  no  doubt,  and  his  connec 
tion  with  me  is  only  another  misfit  in  which  he 
cheerily  bides  his  time.  Life  is  much  the  same  the 
world  over. 

But  before  taking  up  the  story  of  this  particular 
document,  I  think  I'd  better  tell  you-all — as  some 
of  you  may  not  know  about  it — that  it  is  still  a 
custom  among  the  negroes  in  several  remote  south 
ern  communities  to  use  the  marriage  license — I 
mean  the  instrument  itself — in  the  wedding  cere 
mony.  And  in  this  way: 

The  bridal  couple,  standing  in  the  presence  of  wit 
nesses,  hold  the  license  in  their  hands — each  using 
the  left  hand  as  being  next  the  heart — and  stand 
ing  thus,  they  repeat  a- formula  about  like  this: 

"  With  this  License  I  thee  wed,  taking  thee  for  my 
lawful  pardner,  for  better  for  worser,  for  richer  for 
poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  in  slavery  and  in 
freedom, — till  death  us  do  part — in  the  name  of  the 
Father  and  of  the  Son  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
Amen." 


260  A  House  Party 

I  am  not  sure  of  the  verbal  accuracy  of  this,  but 
I  know  it  to  be  essentially  correct,  though  the  "  slav 
ery  and  freedom  "  clause  has  probably  dropped  out. 
I  know  several  most  respectable  coloured  families 
who  proudly  date  the  dignity  of  a  family  line  from  a 
similar  wedding  of  which  the  documentary  proof 
carefully  preserved  is  a  License,  such  as  the  one 
of  which  half  is  in  evidence  to-day.  And  these  wed 
dings  were  by  no  means  always  barren  rites.  There 
were  occasionally  bridesmaids  and  groomsmen,  al 
though,  so  far  as  I  have  been  informed,  they  were 
never  performed  by  ministers  of  the  gospel  or  in 
churches.  I  suspect  that  this  was  a  strictly  civil 
marriage,  unrecorded  in  the  courts  as  having  taken 
place,  but  easily  traceable  as  legally  allowed.  The 
custom  was  probably  practised  by  such  as  were  not 
in  any  regular  church  connection — by  the  "  unregen- 
erate  ".  There  were  no  infidels  or  agnostics  in  those 
days — among  these  people.  I  doubt  whether  there 
are  any  to-day. 

Mammy,  as  I  remember  her,  was  always  an  old 
woman  to  me — just  as  our  mothers  always  seem  old 
to  us — and  it  is  hard  for  me  now  to  realise  that  she 
was  young  and  comely  when  I  was  a  boy  of  six,  for 
she  was  only  about  twenty-eight  years  my  senior. 
The  romance  of  her  life  was  done  and  over  when 
my  father  bought  her,  and  I  can  truly  say  that  no 
lady  ever  preserved  the  dignity  of  real  widowhood 
with  more  reserve  and  grace  than  did  that  old  negro. 
I  distinctly  remember  when  our  butler  and  the  coach- 


The  Broken  Story  261 

man  and  other  servants  about  the  place  tried  to  make 
love  to  her.  I  have  myself  written  for  them  more 
than  one  impassioned  love-letter,  well  knowing  what 
their  fate  would  be.  I  have  seen  them  curl  and  flare 
as  she  silently  laid  them  upon  the  coals  and  watched 
them  burn. 

For  twenty-five  years  mammy  was  an  inmate  of 
our  home,  and  although  she  spoke  of  other  things 
belonging  to  her  former  life,  she  did  not  during 
this  time  allude  in  any  way  to  a  romance.  I  think 
I  have  forgotten  to  say  that  she  came  from  a  distant 
state  from  which  she  was  sold  at  her  own  request. 
It  seems  that  my  people  knew  that  she  had  quarrelled 
with  her  husband — and  had  been  divorced.  And 
by  the  bye, — you  see,  I  am  no  story-teller,  I'm 
afraid  I've  opened  my  eyes — I  neglected  to  say  in 
the  proper  place  that  these  "  License  Marriages  " 
were  considered  legally  broken  by  the  tearing  in 
half  of  the  "  License  paper  ".  To  tear  it  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses,  each  holding  it  as  at  the 
wedding,  was  to  obtain  the  best  regular  divorce,  but 
the  "  broken  paper  "  itself  was  sufficient  proof  of  the 
dissolution  of  the  tie  as  witnessed  by  the  whole  in 
strument.  For  a  man  to  be  able  to  whip  out  half  of 
a  marriage  License  was  to  prove  himself  a  respect 
able  divorce.  So  now  you  may  begin  to  understand 
how  that  bit  of  old  paper  got  its  name  and  signifi 
cance. 

If  I  have  to  stop  my  story  for  you  to  stir  the  fire, 
Mose,  I'm  afraid  I'll  never  find  my  place  again. 


262  A  House  Party 

Wait  till  some  of  these  celebrated  story-tellers  get 
a-going,  and  then  warm  us  up. 

I  am  telling  about  my  old  mammy,  your  friend, 
in  her  frame  there,  and  if  you  would  like  to  hear  it, 
draw  that  ottoman  to  the  door  and  sit  down.  That's 
right. 

By  this  time  Mose  had  returned  and  taken  his 
seat. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  Tolbert  began  again,  "  This 
isn't  much  of  a  story,  because  there  isn't  a  lie  in  it. 
This  little  gentleman  over  here  will  tell  us  something 
worth  while  in  a  minute.  He  is  a  perfect  store-house 
of  fanciful  tales,  but  his  won't  do  to  tie  to.  He  makes 
up  every  lie  he  prints,  but  he  does  it  so  well  that 
we  are  all  glad  to  buy  them." 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I'd 
like  to  go  back  and  repeat  a  little  for  uncle  Mose's 
benefit." 

The  old  man  was  barely  seated,  but  he  rose  now 
and  with  such  manner  that  even  his  stiffness  seemed 
a  grace,  he  said: 

"  No,  Sir,  you  nee'n't  to  repeat  nothin'.  I  been 
a-listenin'  at  de  do'." 

This  happy  bit  of  ingenuousness  caused  a'  ripple 
of  amusement,  of  course, — a  ripple  which  the  old 
man  was  quick  enough  to  understand  and  in  a 
twinkling  he  was  on  his  feet  again. 

"  Excuse  me,  Sir,  excuse  me,  do  "  he  bowed  with 
an  air  that  would  grace  a  court.  "  I  listened  at  de 
open  do'.  I  ain't  no  key-hole  man!  I  gethers  de 


The  Broken  Story  263 

raveled  aidges  o'  parler  conversation  jes'  de  same  as 
de  Bible  say  a  man  kin  gether  crumbs  wha'  fall  f'om 
de  master's  table,  an'  I  cert'n'y  hopes  I  ain't  forgot 
my  manners  an'  behaviour  in  so  doin'." 

His  gilt  edges  were  on. 

"  Cert'n'y  not,  old  man  —  cert'n'y  not,"  said 
Tolbert,  4<  I  wouldn't  have  any  respect  for  a  man 
who  could  live  with  me  for  two  years  and  not  know 
a  few  good  yarns.  But  while  I've  been  dragged  away 
from  my  story,  in  spite  of  all  that  I  could  do,  suppose 
you  go  and  fix  up  the  fire  a  little.  I  am  beginning 
to  '  crawl  down  the  spine  o'  my  back/  as  mammy 
used  to  say  when  she  was  chilly." 

While  Mose  was  engaged  at  the  fire,  the  crowd 
gathered  about  the  lamp  to  examine  the  old  paper. 
But  the  scrutiny  was  not  very  encouraging.  Even 
with  the  aid  of  a  magnify  ing-glass,  it  was  possible 
only  to  decipher  the  words  easily  read  at  a  glance. 
There  were  dim  printed  letterings  at  the  head,  a 
blurred  date  and  the  last  letters  of  a  woman's 
name. 

"  This,"  said  Le  Few,  is,  as  I  said  at  first,  a  parish 
License,  dated  some  time  in  the  forties — name  of 
Parish  not  given,  though  it  seems  to  have  ended  with 
an  n.  The  beginnings  of  the  names  of  both  con 
tracting  parties  are  gone,  but  the  woman's  Christian 
name  evidently  ended  '  c,  y/  and  her  last  name  began 
with  a  B.  The  entire  name  of  the  groom  is  missing 
— utterly  blurred.  There  are  sundry  dim  lines  here 
and  there  and  what  they  might  hold  as  corrobora- 


264  A  House  Party 

tion — if  we  had  the  name  to  fill  in — I  can  not  say. 
They  might  afford  sufficient  circumstantial  evidence 
to  hang  a  man." 

"  Enough  to  hang  an  innocent  man,  maybe  "  said 
some  one,  "  That  is  sometimes  the  end  of  circum 
stantial  evidence/' 

"  Yes,"  said  Le  Few,  "  Perhaps  so,  but  don't  let 
us  go  into  irrelevant  discussions  now,  if  you  please. 
I  am  anxious  to  get  to  the  tantalising  middle  of  this 
story.  I  wish  you'd  go  on  and  get  there.  The  top 
of  my  head  is  fairly  prickling  from  the  habit  of  the 
late  strands  to  stand  on  end  with  excitement.  I 
never  could  endure  suspense.  That's  why  I  don't 
run  for  president." 

"  If  that  is  your  only  reason,  I  shouldn't  think  you 
would  hesitate,"  drawled  Luke  Crane,  the  corners 
of  his  eyes  twinkling.  "  I  have  a  reason  for  not 
seeking  that  office  myself,  but  it  is  different.  I 
shouldn't  have  any  more  reason  for  suspense  than 
you  would.  They'd  think  I  was  joking." 

"  Well,"  interrupted  Tolbert  before  the  laughter 
in  the  Scotchman's  corner  had  subsided,  "  There 
isn't  much  more  to  my  story,  and  I  reckon  I'd  better 
carry  it  along.  You  know  I  never  knew  anything 
about  this  paper  until  Mammy  was  ill  and  going  to 
die.  Then  she  brought  it  out.  If  I  had  been  aware 
of  its  existence  all  these  years,  no  doubt  I  should 
have  a  romance  worth  the  telling.  It  goes  without 
saying  that  she  loved  this  fellow  all  her  life.  It 
seems  that  he  was  a  handsome  darkie  and,  well,  it 


The  Broken  Story  265 

was  a  case  of  jealousy  in  the  beginning,  I  fancy, 
-and " 

"  You  can  see  from  her  portrait  how  gentle  and 
placid  she  was  in  her  latter  years.  Her  eyes  were  as 
mild  and  beautiful  as  a  cow's  and,  indeed,  I  never 
saw  her  controlled  by  passion  but  once,  and  strange 
to  say,  that  was\vhen  she  lay  dying.  It  was  the  day 
she  took  this  old  paper  from  beneath  her  pillow  and 
gave  it  to  me,  with  its  story.  She  was  very  weak 
but  she  sat  up  in  bed  and  while  she  tried  to  unfold 
it,  her  hands  shook  so  that  I  took  it  from  her  and 
opened  it  in  her  presence.  When  at  length  the  torn 
bit  lay  before  her,  she  rallied  herself  and  began  to 
talk. 

"  '  Marse  Alf'/  she  began,  she  always  called  me 
so  when  she  was  serious  or  ill  or  tenderly  reminis 
cent.  ••  '  Marse  Alf'/  she  said,  '  Read  it  out  to  me, 
please,  Sir.' ' 

You  can  understand  how  difficult  it  was  for  me  to 
do  this,  seeing  the  condition  of  the  paper.  How 
ever,  I  took  it  and  beginning  at  the  first  line — which 
was  the  last  half  of  it,  remember — I  read  as  well  as 
I  could  and  it  was  surprising  to  see  how  glibly  she 
filled  in  the  missing  words.  I  ought  to  have  written 
them  down;  indeed,  I  intended  doing  so,  but  she 
died  one  day  suddenly,  '  unexpectedly,'  as  the  long- 
dying  always  go. 

Well,  when  I  had  gone  over  it  with  her  that  day, 
she  said  quite  composedly,  "  Now,  wrop  it  up  ag'in, 
please,  Sir  " — she  had  had  it  wrapped  and  enclosed 


266  A  House  Party 

in  three  envelopes,  of  graded  sizes,  and  even  they 
were  time-dyed  and  worn  at  the  edges. 

"  Now  wrop  it  up,  please,  Sir,"  she  repeated  after 
I  had  put  on  its  last  cover  and  I  saw  that  there  was 
still  an  outer  covering  of  cloth.  When  it  was 
finally  done  up  to  her  satisfaction,  she  said,  "  Now, 
slip  it  back  under  my  head  an'  let  it  stay  tell  I'm 
gone.  Den  you  tek  it,  please,  Sir,  an'  keep  it,  an' 
maybe  you  mought  come  acrost  'im  some  time.  An' 
ef  you  does,  be  sho'  to  give  it  to  'im  an'  tell  'im  I 
craves  to  know  it's  mended.  I  don't  want  to  set 
up  mongs'  de  angels  no  lonesome  divo'ced  'oman. 
Tell  him  I  say  dat,  layin'  heah  on  de  aidge  betwix 
time  an'  eternity,  wid  sight  bofe  ways,  I  see  de  fault 
was  all  mine.  An'  Marse  Alf,  ef  you  wouldn't 
mind —  —  ?"  she  hesitated  here,  evidently  timid, 
"  Ef  you  wouldn't  mind,"  she  repeated,  "  maybe 
you  mought  call  over  de  yeahs  to  him  sence  you  was 
a  baby  an'  ef  you  could  see  yo'  way  to  tell  'im  dat 
yo'  ole  Mammy  kep'  'erse'f  out  o'  harm's  way. 

An'  tell  'im  I  done  had  all  de  satisfaction  out  o' 
my  anger,  an'  it  was  bitter  food  to  chaw  on  when  it 
was  cold — an'  I  knowed  I  had  chose  my  life-cud. 
An'  ef  he's  done  consolated  'isself  wid  some  other 
'oman,  I  wont  hold  it  ag'in  'im — but  I  don't  b'lieve 
he  is. 

Having  let  herself  go  thus  far,  she  was  seized 
with  sudden  animation  and  rose  up  on  her  elbow. 
"  Marse  Alf  "  she  cried,  drawing  the  parcel  from 
its  place  and  laying  it  before  me,  "  You  see  dat 


The  Broken  Story  267 

little  bundle  an*  you  know  what's  in  it !  Dat  little 
paper,  it's  de  image  o'  my  life,  tore  in  half,  an'  broke 
an'  ole.  Dat  little  yaller  scrap  Stan's  for  love  an' 
husban's  an'  chillen'  an'  maybe  by  dis  time,  gran'- 
chillen  to  bless  me.  But  instid  o'  dat,  I  boun'  to 
answer  de  call  an'  go  to  meet  de  Marster  like  de  man 
in  de  tex',  wid  my  one  talent  done  up  in  a  napkin. 
God  seemed  to  gimme  jes'  one  talent.  Jes'  to  love — 
dat's  all.  An'  de  wrong  side  o'  love'  hit's  hate. 
When  I  was  yo'ng,  I  reckon  I  must  'a'  been  good- 
lookin' — for  a  gal  o'  my  colour.  Anyway  dey  used 
to  let  on  to  me  dat  dey  liked  my  looks — an'  my  ways, 
too,  all  de  yo'ng  fellers,  did.  I  could  'a'  married  my 
pick  o'  de  whole  caboodle — all  'cep'n  Jerry." 

"  Excuse,  me,  Sir."  It  was  the  old  man  at  the 
door,  old  Mose,  who  interrupted  at  this  sensitive 
point.  "  Wh — what  was  dat  name  you  say?  " 

"  Jerry,  was  the  name  she  called,  Moses,"  said  the 
host,  "  Well,  said  she,  '  Jerry,  he  nuver  axed  me, 
an'  dat  made  me  mad,  an'  de  mo'  I  pondered  on  him 
not  axin'  me,  de  mo'  look  like  I  craved  to  mek  ;im 
say  de  word,  but  no,  Sir,  he'd  prom'nade  wid  me — 
an'  dance  wid  me — an'  walk  for  de  cake  wid  me — 
an'  climb  dange'ous  vines  for  muscadines  an'  flowers 
an'  write  me  po'try-notes.  His  white  Mistus,  she 
done  'em  for  him,  an'  dey'd  have  every  word  in  'em 
but  de  right  one.  So  bimeby,  I  got  my  dander  up 
over  him  havin'  de  impidcnce  to  keep  still  an'  say 
nothin'  an'  I  say  to  him  one  day,  I  say:  '  Huccome 
you  ain't  nuver  is  axed  me  de  fatal  question,  Jerry?  ' 


268  A  House  Party 

Jes'  dat-away,  I  axed  him,  an'  he  made  answer  dis- 
away :  '  You  don't  say  Milady  Git-'em-all,  dat  you 
ax  me  dat.  No*',  he  say,  /  ain't  nuver  is  axed  you 
an'  I  ain't  nuver  is  gwine  ax  you!  Blessed  is  de 
man  dat  expects  nothin  for  he  shall  not  be  disap- 
p'inted.  So  long  as  I  don't  ax  you,  you  can't  say 
no.  An'  wid  dat,  he  riz  up  tell  he  was  mighty  nigh 
tip-toe  an'  he  looked  at  me,  up  an'  down,  th'ough 
an'  th'ough,  an'  he  say,  '  Nance  Ann  Phoebe  Maria 
— dats  my  whole  name — he  say,  ef  you  was  ever  to 
git  sech  a  holt  on  me  dat  I'd  be  bleegecl  to  ax  you  to 
marry  me  an'  den  you  was  to  'fuse  me  wid  all  yo' 
parlour-manners,  I'd  kill  yer,  an'  den  I'd  call  on  Gord 
A'mighty  to  strike  me  dead,  too.  I  wouldn't  suicide 
myse'f  into  Hell '  he  say,  '  but  arter  I'd  done  kilt 
my  beloved,  I'd  pray  to  die.' ' 

"  Well,  when  he  talked  dat-a-way,  I  see  how  he 
loved  me,  an'  so  I  jes'  shuk  myse'f  an'  twis'  my  foot 
on  de  gate  an'  broke  a  rose  in  half  an'  I  say : 

"  Whose  talkin'  bout  refusin'?  " 

So  you  see,  hit  was  a  fire  an'  tow  match  f'om  de 
beginnin'.  An'  we  was  legally  married,  wid  a 
license-paper  in  de  presence  o'  witnesses — dey  was 
six  nachel  signachur-crosses  on  dat  paper,  signed  by 
six  witnesses.  Seem  like  dat  was  enough  to  tie  de 
knot  tight,  but  it  didn't  hoi'  long.  Befo'  de  yeah 
was  out,  I  was  tooken  sick— I  had  dese  heah  bron- 
chical  chubes  in  my  th'oat  an'  dey'd  weeze  an'  mek 
me  cross  an'  I  had  to  lay  down  in  de  bed  fer  over  a 
month.  An'  dat's  how  I  commenced  to  study  over 


The  Broken  Story  269 

things.  Jerry,  he  used  to  sing  in  de  chu'ch  an'  when 
I  couldn't  go,  he's  tek  a  neighbour-gal,  an' — 
well,  you  know  jealousy,  hit's  a  sick  'oman's  ha'nt. 
It  ha'nted  me  tell  I  got  cross,  'twix  dat  an'  my  sick 
ness,  an'  one  day  when  I  tuk  him  up  short,  Jerry,  he 
up  an  th'owed  it  up  to  my  face  dat  /  liad  proposed  to 
him.  Well,  dat  was  enough.  Dem  words  was  de 
two-aidge  blades  dat  cut  dat  License  into  a  divo'ce- 
ment-paper,  howsomever  I  tore  it  wid  my  hands. 
But  it  was  like  cuttin  a  dead  body  in  half.  Jerry's 
words  had  killt  it.  I  was  weak,  but  I  jumped  out  o' 
bed  an'  I  callt  in  two  or  three  o'  de  folks  wha'  had 
seen  us  married,  an'  I  got  out  de  paper,  an'  when  I 
started  to  tear  it,  Jerry,  he  begged  me  for  God's 
sake  to  spare  it,  but  de  tiger-cat  was  awake  in  me, 
an'  well,  whilst  he  had  aholt  of  it  tryin'  to  save  it 
I  ripped  it  down.  Dat's  huccome  it  come  to  be  tore 
so  crooked.  Of  co'se,  I  felt  mighty  'shamed  when 
I  had  cooled  down,  an'  yit,  you  seexl  had  done  what 
I  done  in  de  presence  o'  witnesses,  an*  I  was  dat 
proud,  I  knowed  I'd  nuver  give  in.  An'  dat's  why 
I  begged  my  marster  to  sell  me  to  a  far  state  an'  he 
wouldn't  do  it  tell  a  yeah  had  passed.  Den  he  see  I 
was  keepin'  one  good  man  out  in  de  col',  an'  I  reckon 
I  was  conductin'  myse'f  wid  too  much  biggity,  too, 
so  he  up  an'  sol'  me  to  yo'  pa.  You  see,  ef  Jerry 
had  'a'  said  anything  else,  I'd  a  got  over  it, — I  don't 
min'  light  devilment — but  me — me!  Me,  dat  could 
'a'  married  any  man  on  six  plantations,  f'om  de 
preachers  down—  me  dat  helt  myself  so  high  dat  I 


zjo  A  House  Party 

could  affo'd  to  speak  de  word  for  Love's  sake — to 
have  him  fling  it  in  my  face — an'  me  layin'  sick — 
an*  dat  yaller-freckled  devil  in  de  nex'  cabin'  laughin' 
so  I  could  heah  her  f'om  my  bed  when  dey'd  come 
home  from  church  at  night— Well,  a  knot  cut  in  a 
minute  is  broke  for  all  time.' 

"  Now,  Boy — "  she  stroked  my  hand  as  she  called 
me  so,  and  it  was  as  if  I  were  a  child  again,  '  Now, 
Boy,  you  know  why  yo'  ole  lonesome  Mammy  allus 
warned  you  not  to  part  wid  nobody  in  anger/  ' 

Of  course,  this  is  a  meagre  account  of  her  story, 
said  Tolbert,  imperfect  excepting  as  to  the  dialect 
which  I  really  believe  I  know.  This  is  all  the  broken 
story.  I  wish  I  could  give  it  to  you  with  half  the 
palpitating  passion  of  the  dying  woman.  As  she  sat 
there — for  her  growing  excitement  had  soon  lifted 
her  to  a  sitting  posture — grey  about  the  lips  as  I  had 
never  seen  her — she  seemed  for  a  moment  strange  to 
me  and  remote,  and  I  realised  that  the  woman, 
Nancy,  whose  life-tragedy  I  had  just  heard  was 
quite  another  than  the  soft-voiced  '  Mammy '  who 
had  blessed  my  life,  and  for  a  moment,  I  felt  almost 
afraid  of  her.  We  are  all  many-sided.  Perhaps  her 
passion-part  was  fierce  and  impossible  and  she  may 
have  made  things  pretty  warm  for  the  poor  fellow, 
Jerry,  who  seems  meekly  to  have  accepted  her 
decree." 

The  recital  had  been  so  dramatic  and  interesting 
that  all  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  Tolbert,  and  it  was 
only  while  he  hesitated,  now,  that  they  turned  to  the 


The  Broken  Story  271 

old  Negro,  Moses,  who  was  standing  well  out  to 
ward  the  middle  of  the  room. 

When  he  realised  his  conspicuous  position,  and 
that  he  was  suddenly  the  object  of  attention,  he 
raised  a  trembling  apologetic  arm. 

"  Excuse  me,  Sir,  excuse  me.  Excuse  me  ladies 
an'  ge'mmen,"  he  began,  "  But  de  marster  o'  de 
house  is  axed  me  to  set  down  an'  listen  an*  I  is  done 
so  wid  all  proper  coloured  manners  an'  behaviour; 
but  listenin'  is  one  thing  an'  keepin'  still  is  another. 
For  de  las'  few  minutes  I  been  like  a  man  stunned 
an'  I  don'  know  ef  I  been  hearin'  straight  or  not. 

"  Dey's  some  mistake  been  gwine  on  heah,  to 
night,  an'  I  can't  keep  still  no  longer.  Dey's  so 
much  been  tol'  straight,  accordin'  to  de  facts  o'  de 
succumstance  dat  I  sca'cely  knows  whar  to  begin. 
But  I  'bleeged  to  speak !  " 

Then  he  turned  to  Captain  Tolbert. 

"  Hit  looks  strange  to  me,  Cap'n  Tolbert,  dat  de 
lady  wha'  intrusted  you  wid  dat  divo'cement-paper 
ain't  give  you  de  name  o'  de  man  wha'  got  a  right 
an'  title  to  claim  it.  Hit  do  seem  strange  to  me, — 
hit  sho'  do." 

"  But  she  did,  uncle  Mose.  I  did  not  realise 
that  I  had  not  mentioned  that.  She  spoke  of  him  as 
Jerry,  but  she  said  that  in  wiping  her  tears  from  the 
paper  one  day,  she  blurred  out  the  name.  She  in- 
sisted,  though,  that  it  was  still  there,  in  the  tear- 
stain,  and  that  God  would  know  it.  It  was  '  Jerry 
M.  Tomlinson,'  if  I  remember " 


272  A  House  Party 

"  Sh — hush !  My  God,  don't  say  no  mo',  please, 
Sir — don't  say  no  mo'. 

"  Dey's  some  mistake  heah,"  he  repeated,  shaking 
his  head.  "  Dey's  some  mistake.  Either  one  o' 
dese  heah  docimints  is  a  counterfeit — de  divo'ce- 
ment-paper  or  the  po'trait,  one. — 

'*  You  see — excuse  me  talking  ladies  an'  ge'men, 
but  dis  heah  ain't  no  fanciful  tale.  Of  co'se,  I  know 
it  ain't  no  parlour-story,  nuther.  Hits  a  ole  nigger- 
cabin  hist'ry,  dat's  all — but  dey's  life  an'  death  in  it 
— yas,  Sir,  life  an'  death. 

"  I  knows  some'h'n  'bout  de  case  o'  dat  divo— 
cemint-paper,  but,  but — dat  ain't  de  lady's  po'trait, 
no,  Sir!  Why,  she  was  slim  as  a  okry-stalk  an'  nim- 
ole  as  a  deer.  Dis  fat  ole  lady  wid  de  fine  hankcher 
on  'er  head — I  ain'  sayin'  nothin'  ag'in  'er — but — • 
but—" 

He  had  turned  toward  Tolbert  as  he  spoke  and  ap 
proaching  him  now,  and  unfastening  his  coat  as  he 
talked,  he  said : 

"  No,  Sir,  I'll  show  you.  Dat  ain't  her  pictur'. 
Will  you  please,  Sir,  loan  me  yo'  pen-knife — ef  you 
please,  Sir." 

Taking  the  knife,  he  made  an  effort  to  cut  some 
heavy  stitches  in  the  breast-lining  of  his  coat,  but  his 
fingers  trembled  and  he  was  awkward  and  had  to 
be  helped. 

"  No,  indeedy,  dat  ain't  her  likeness — no,  Sir !  " 
he  kept  repeating,  as  the  stitches  slowly  gave  way. 
They  seemed  to  have  been  sewed  with  twine.  "  No, 


The  Broken  Story  273 

indeedy.  But  I  got  some'h'n'  heah — I'll  show  yer 
— but  dat  ain't  her  'garry-type — No,  Sir." 

Of  course,  every  one  was  eager  to  see  the  picture 
which  he  would  produce,  fully  expecting  it  to  re 
veal  the  face  of  a  young  and  comely  girl. 

"  Wh — wh — whar  dat  divo'cemint-paper  ?  "  he 
stammered  when  at  last  he  had  drawn  out  a  torn  bit 
which  he  now  carefully,  albeit  with  trembling,  un 
folded  and  laid  upon  the  glass  face  of  the  framed 
fragment.  There  was  no  doubt  of  the  genuineness 
of  this  exhibit.  Each  ragged  outline  fitted  exactly 
into  that  of  the  paper  beneath  it. 

He  shook  so,  seeing  the  finished  story  before  him 
that  Tolbert  brought  him  a  glass  of  Cognac.  The 
habit  of  holding  his  emotions  in  the  presence  of  his 
betters  was  life-long,  however,  and  it  was  but  a  mo 
ment  before  he  was  quite  calm. 

Reaching  forward,  he  drew  with  his  finger  the 
irregular  line  across  the  face  of  the  glass. 

"  She  say  she  tore  it  so  crooked  in  temper  "  he 
said  presently,  "  An'  so  she  did — so  she  did — but  hit 
was  all  my  fault.  She  warn't  to  blame,  no  ways. 
Instid  o'  me  a-grabbin'  it  an'  trying  to  hender  'er, 
I  oughter  had  grabbed  her  an'  whupped  her  good, 
an'  hid  de  paper  by  main  fo'ce.  Dat  what  I  oughter 
did.  I  ain't  no  'oman-beater,  but  dey's  life  an'  death 
cases  whar  de  bes'  doctors  has  to  give  pizen.  Ef  I'd 
'a'  did  dat,  I'd  a  kep'  'er.  But  she  allus  had  de  upper 
hand  o'  me,  somehow,  an'  whilst  I  wrastled  wid  'er, 
beggin'  'er  like  a  fool  to  save  it,  she  had  me  divo'ced 


274  A  House  Party 

befo'  I  knowed  whar  I  was.  I  didn't  mean  no  harm 
when  I  th'owed  it  up  to  her  dat  she  had  ast  me  to 
marry  her.  Hit  was  jes'  de  on'iest  thing  I  had  to 
fling  at  her — an',  of  co'se,  I  flung  it.  Ef  a  man 
knows  he  ain't  got  on'y  but  one  kind  o'  ammunition, 
he's  mighty  ap'  to  use  it  in  a  skirmish.  But  it  was 
low-down  in  me — an'  she  sick  too.  Yas,  Sir,  she 
allus'  callt  me  Jerry.  Jeremiah  Moses,  dat's  my 
title,  Jeremiah  Moses  Tomlinson.  Folks  used  to 
call  me  Jerry  mos'  gen'ally  but  arter  I  was  divo'ced, 
I  took  de  Moses  an'  made  eve'ybody  call  me  so.  I 
wanted  to  hoi'  de  Jerry  for  myself  wid  de  sound  of 
her  voice  in  it.  Ef  a  name  is  hammered  into  a 
pusson's  ear  by  Tom,  Dick  an1  Harry  all  his  life,  dey 
ain't  no  shubshance  lef  in  it. 

"  Wpn't  you,  please,  Sir,  take  it  out'n  de  frame  an' 
— an' — You  ain't  got  sich  a  thing  as  a  bottle  of  paste 
handy'  is  you?  Of  co-se,  you  ready  to  deliver  up  de 
intrustmint  to  me,  ain't  you,  Cap'n?  Seem  like  I 
done  proved  my  title  clair." 

Tolbert  had  been  much  moved  but  he  laughed 
now. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  old  man.  I  don't  know 
about  surrendering  this  document  to  a  man  who  re 
fuses  to  accept  a  picture  of  the  woman  who  entrusted 
it  to  me.  It  is  as  you  say,  an  '  entrustment ',  and  I 
have  to  be  worthy  of  it."  Tolbert's  eyes  twinkled  a 
little  in  spite  of  himself,  as  he  added :  "  How  do  I 
know  but  that  you  stole  that  piece  of  paper  ?  Really, 
you  haven't  put  in  any  proof."  •* 


The  Broken  Story  275 

x 

"  Oh,  htirsh,  Cap'n,  for  Gord  sake,  hursh !  "  he 
chuckled,  "  You  know  dat's  my  divo'cement-paper 
I  mean  to  say  you  know  dat's  my  license,  my 
certif'cate,  you  knows  dat  good  as  I  does.  Ain't 
de  paper  proved  itsc'f?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  as  you  say,  the  paper  is  surely  gen 
uine.  It  has  proved  itself.  This  is  a  case  of  indis 
putable  circumstantial  evidence  strong  enough  to 
hang  a  man." 

"  Yas,  Sir,  or  to  save  him." 

"  Well,  so  far  so  good,  but  supposing  now,"  in 
sisted  Tolbert,  who  was  unconsciously  working  the 
drama  a  little  for  his  guests,  "  Suppose  that  some  fine 
day  another  man  should  come  along  and  recognise 
the  portrait  instantly  and  tell  a  similar  story  of  a 
divorce-paper  and  say  he  had  lost  his  part  of  it. 
What  would  I  do  ?  Besides,  Mose,  my  man,  I  am 
forced  to  say  that  you  are  not  altogether  like  the 
fascinating  youth  whom  Mammy  described." 

Perhaps  his  ears  were  dulled,  for  instead  of  an 
swering,  the  old  man  hobbled  across  to  the  portrait 
and  standing '  before  it,  scanned  it  closely,  at  one 
angle  and  another. 

"  You  see,"  he  said  presently,  "  Nancy,  she  was 
altogether  diff  ent.  Why,  she  was  a  notable  dancer, 
slim  an'  fleet  as  a  doe.  Why,  she  won  eve'y  cake 
dat  she  ever  walked  for,  she  an'  her  pardner.  An' 
dis  lady " 

"  And  who  was  her  partner  ?  "  interrupted  Tol- 
~bert. 


276  A  House  Party 

"  Who !  Why,  me,  of  co'se,  Sir.  Who  you 
reckon  ?  " 

"  She  and  you.  Is  that  so  ?  Well,  now,  suppose 
you  turn  around  and  look  into  that  mirror  behind 
you.  The  eyes  of  that  portrait  are  looking  straight 
at  the  reflection  there.  Do  you  think,  that  if  they 
could  see — if  they  can  see,  for  her  spirit  often  seems 
to  be  there,  looking  through  them — do  you  think  they 
recognise  that  wrinkled  old  codger  as  the  nimble 
partner  who  won  cakes  with  her  with  fancy  light- 
steps  in  the  old  days  ?  " 

For  answer,  the  old  man  dropped  his  head. 

"  No,  Sir,  I  spec'  not,"  he  said  sadly,  turning 
away,  "  I  spec'  not."  As  he  moved,  he  happened  to 
throw  his  eyes  back  into  the  mirror,  back  and  up 
ward.  It  was  as  if  he  were  appealing  to  Heaven 
and  had  been  granted  a  vision,  for  he  started  vio 
lently  and  gasped — then  slowly  lifted  his  arms,  and 
his  voice  was  as  the  ghost  of  a  shriek  as  he  gasped 
hoarsely : 

"It's  her!  My  Gord,  it's  her!  Nancy — Nancy 
— Nancy!  Sho's  you  born,  it's  her.  Lord,  Lord. 
De  garrytype  denied  her  to  me,  but  de  merror  done 
brung  her  back.  Glory  be  to  Gord."  And  stand 
ing  thus,  with  arms  still  lifted,  he  sobbed  softly. 
But  presently  a  change  came  over  him  and  it  seemed 
for  a  moment  as  if  he  had  lost  his  mind. 

With  arms  still  raised,  he  had  closed  his  eyes,  and 
turning,  as  if  to  seize  a  partner  for  the  dance,  in  a 


The  Broken  Story  277 

voice  low  at  first  but  swelling  as  it  went,  he  began 
to  sing,  stepping  with  the  measure: 

"  Oh,  gimme  a  June-day, 

Jes'  long  about  noon-day, 
An'  fin'  me  a  spot  in  de  shade, 

Whar  mockin '-birds  sings 

In  de  muscadine  swings, 
To  me  an'  my  yallery  maid." 

"  I'll  accept  that !  You  are  identified,  old  man !  " 
exclaimed  Tolbert,  tears  running  unmolested  down 
his  own  cheeks,  "  Why,  Mammy  has  sung  that  to  us 
children  and  danced  those  very  steps  by  it  a  hundred 
times.  God  bless  me,  how  it  brings  back  my  boy 
hood  to  hear  it  again!  I  wonder  if  you  remember 
one  called  '  Whippoorwiir  ?  " 

"  Whupperwill  ?  Cert'n'y.  Dis  de  way  she  go. 
But  no.  I'd  haf  to  make  'ten'  like  I  had  a  petticoat 
on — to  dance  it  right.  No,  dat's  her  dance.  I  could 
do  it,  mind  you,  but  I  wouldn't,  wid  her  maybe 
lookin'  on  at  my.ole  age  an'  awkwardness.  I  used 
to  dance  one  we  called  '  Hopper-toad  ',  too,  but  hit's 
too  lively  for  me,  now. 

"  Maybe  hit  looks  fastidious  an'  flippery  for  me  to 
be  dancin'  now,  dis-a-way,  ladies  an'  ge'm'men,  but 

"  He  had  turned  formally  to  the  company, 

now: 

"  Maybe  hit  mought  look  awdacious  an'  flippery  to 
dance  de  way  I  done,  when  I  jes'  heerd  dat  my  lady 
is  passed  over,  but 't  warn't  no  news  to  me.  I  been 


278  A  House  Party 

knowin'  it  over  a  yeah — purty  night  two  yeahs. 
She  come  to  me  in  de  sperit — way  down  Madison 
Parish,  in  Louisiana,  whar  we  was  married — she 
was  a  Vicksburg  neighbourhoods  gal  an'  Madison 
Parish,  hit's  jes'  acrost  de  river  f'om  Maginolia 
plantation  whar  she  lived,  on  de  Louisiana-state  side. 
Heap  o'  our  co'tin' — sech  as  it  was — was  did  on  de 
water,  in  a  narrer  skift,  de  narrerer  de  better,  I  used 
to  tell  her.  Dat  was  in  de  days  o'  my  tantalisemint. 

Well,  one  night  about  two  yeahs  ago,  I  was  settin' 
out  on  de  levee  under  a  chiny-tree,  lookin'  at  de  drif- 
wood  an'  callin'  myse'f  a  log — seem  like  I  was  tossed 
hither  an'  yonder,  any  way  de  current  th'owed  me, — • 
an'  de  moon,  it  went  under  a  cloud,  an'  Nancy  come 
to  me  in  de  sperit.  Seem  like  hit  was  a  voice  in  de 
tree  when  she  fust  spoke  to  me  an'  I  looked  up,  an' 
jes'  at  dat  minute  de  moon  come  out  an'  I  see  de 
tree  was  clair  an'  I  knowed  she  had  come  herse'f  in 
de  sperit. 

'  Jerry,  my  love/  she  say  '  de  paper  is  waitin'  for 
yer.  I  saved  it  keerful — '  You  see,  a  divo'ced 
pusson  is  '  bleeged  to  save  dey  half  o'  de  paper  ef  dey 
ever  crave  to  make  up,  an*  when  she  say  dat,  I 
knowed  she  nuver  had  been  divo'ced  f'om  me  in  'er 
heart.  An'  whilst  I  listened,  she  kep  on  an'  she  say, 
'  I  kin  talk  to  you,  caze  I  done  mounted  higher  up, 
but  you  can't  reach  me  'tel  you  done  cast  off  de 
outer  gyarment  o'  de  flesh/  An'  wid  dat,  seem  like 
her  voice  faded  away  an'  I  callt  out  to  her :  '  Whar 
de  paper  ?  Whar  de  paper  ? '  But  of  co'se, 


The  Broken  Story  279 

she  couldn't  hear  me,  an'  I  knowed  it,  an'  yit 
I  screamed  tel  I  liked  to  bust  my  th'oat,  but 
'twarn't  no  use,  an'  bimeby  a  morkin'-bird 
started  to  sing  right  above  my  head  an'  dat 
silenced  me  an'  trekly  I  heerd  her  voice  once  mo', 
but  hit  was  mountin'  de  firment  ag'in  an'  all  I 
could  stinguish  out  was  some'h'n  'bout  '  red  rose ' 
an'  '  foller  yo'  leadins  ' — an'  she  was  gone.  An'  de 
morkin'-bird,  he  flew  right  over  my  head,  an'  de 
moon,  she  sailed  out  white  once  mo'  an'  I  got  up 
an'  walked  de  levee.  But  f'om  dat  minute  I  started 
to  look  for  leadin's  an'  it  warn't  long  befo'  I  was 
trabblin'.  An'  de  fust  red  rose  I  foun'  was  on  dis 
crowded  Fif  Avenyer  street — when  you  foun'  me, 
bless  de  Lord ! 

So  you  see,  ladies  an'  ge'men,  when  I  skivered  her 
to-night — an'  got  de  paper — glory  be  to  Gord,  got  de 
paper— seem  like  I  had  done  foun'  my  bride  ag'in, 
an*  so  I  is — so  I  is. 

Hurry  up  an'  cancellate  dat  divo'ce-paper,  please, 
Sir.  Got  it  pasted,  is  you?"  He  turned  to  the 
host. 

Tolbert  had  crossed  the  room  to  hand  the 
stout  lady  her  fan  and  while  she  wiped  her  eyes  he 
left  her  struggling  for  composure  and  returned  to 
the  table.  He  took  the  mended  paper  and  was  about 
to  slip  it  back  into  the  frame  when  Mose  protested : 
"Don't  do  dat!  No,  Sir,  don't  do  dat!  Dat 
ain't  gwine  into  no  frame  wid  de  scar  o'  dat  fam'ly 
quarl  acrost  its  face — no,  Sir!  No,  jes'  fold  it  up, 


280  A  House  Party 

ef  you  please,  Sir,  ef  you  sho'  it's  dry,  an'  ban'  it 
over  to  me  an'  I'll  put  it  whar  it  b'longs." 

It  was  some  minutes  before  it  was  satisfactorily 
pressed  and  folded,  but  when  it  was  done,  the  old 
man  only  began  to  open  his  coat,  indicating  the 
place  from  which  the  other  had  come. 

"Don't  put  it  there,"  protested  Tolbert.  You 
might  lose  it !  "  That  old  coat  isn't  a  fit  place 
for " 

"  Hit's  de  righteous  place  for  it,  Sir.  Dis  is  whar 
it  blongs.  Dis  is  my  grave-coat.  I  don't  tek  it 
out  'cep'n  for  special  'casions.  I  knowed  dey  was 
gran'  ladies  an'  ge'men  gwine  be  heah  to-night,  an' 
I  allus  puts  it  on  for  sech  as  dat. 

"  So  dis  ole  inside-breas-pocket,  dats  its  home. 
An  when  I  die,  I'll  have  my  License  on  my  breast 
an'  I'll  be  free  to  knock  at  de  do'  an'  ax  ole  Sin  Peter 
for  my  wife." 

*  ****** 

It  was  very  late,  and  the  elderly  members  of  the 
House  Party  rose  to  say  good  night.  So  much 
pleasure  was  expressed  in  the  story-telling  bout  that 
it  was  arranged  that  the  stories  should  be  continued 
the  next  evening.  Lots  were  drawn  to  see  who 
should  teill  the  first  story,  and  it  fell  to  Mr.  Richard 
Field,  Jr. 

The  next  day  there  was  no  rain,  but  the  turf  was 
too  wet  for  either  long  walks,  or  tennis,  or  golf. 
But  all  the  traps  were  gotten  out  and  the  livery  stable 
levied  on,  and  the  entire  party  got  their  first  airing 


The  Broken  Story  281 

in  driving  over  the  Macadam  roads  that  stretched 
for  miles  about.  So  passed  the  day  till  dinner  at 
seven,  and  after  the  coffee  and  liqueurs  were  served 
in  the  great  library  the  time  had  come  for  Mr.  Rich 
ard  Field,  Jr.,  to  entertain  the  company  with  some 
tale  from  his  life  experience. 

Mrs.  Field,  it  had  been  noticed  as  early  as  break 
fast  time,  was  inclined  to  be  nervous  on  her  hus 
band's  account.  Five  years  of  married  life  had  not 
cured  her  of  this  amiable  symptom,  and  she  made  but 
a  light  meal.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  ate  heartily, 
and  without  signs  of  disturbance.  Apparently  he 
was  not  even  conscious  of  the  glances  that  his  wife 
so  frequently  stole  at  him. 

"  Do  at  least  have  some  omelet,. my  dear,"  whis 
pered  Mrs.  Hexamer  urgently.  "  It's  quite  deli 


cious." 


But  Mrs.  Field  could  summon  no  appetite. 

"  I  see  you're  anxious  about  him,"  Mrs.  Hexamer 
continued  after  breakfast.  "  You're  surely  not 
afraid  his  story  will  fail  to  interest  us?  " 

"  No,  it  is  not  that." 

"  It  can't  be  that  he  has  none  ready  yet! " 

"  Oh,  no;  he  has  got  one." 

"  And  you  don't  like  his  choice?  " 

"  He  won't  tell  me  what  it  is !  " 

Mrs.  Hexamer  put  down  her  knitting.  "  Then, 
Ethel,"  she  said  with  severity,  "  the  fault  is  yours. 
When  I  had  been  five  years  married,  Mr.  Hexamer 
confided  everything  to  me." 


282  A  House  Party 

"  So  does  Richard.  Except  when  I  particularly 
ask  him." 

"There  it  is,  Ethel.  You  let  him  see  that  you 
want  to  know." 

"  But  I  do  want  to  know.  Richard  has  had  such 
interesting  experiences,  so  many  of  them.  And  I 
do  so  want  him  to  tell  a  good  one.  There's  the  one 
when  he  saved  a  man  from  drowning  just  below 
our  house,  the  second  summer,  and  the  man  turned 
out  to  be  a  burglar  and  broke  into  the  pantry  that 
very  night,  and  Richard  caught  him  in  the  dark  with 
just  as  much  courage  as  he  had  caught  him  in  the 
water  and  just  as  few  clothes,  only  it  was  so  differ 
ent.  Richard  makes  it  quite  thrilling.  And  I  men 
tioned  another  to  him.  But  he  just  went  on  shaving. 
And  now  he  has  gone  out  walking,  and  I  believe  it's 
going  to  be  something  about  me." 

At  lunch  Mrs.  Field  made  a  better  meal,  although 
it  was  clear  to  Mrs.  Hexamer  that  Richard  on  re 
turning  from  his  walk  had  still  kept  his  intentions 
from  Ethel. 

"  She  does  not  manage  him  in  the  least,"  Mrs. 
Hexamer  declared  to  the  other  ladies,  as  Ethel  and 
Richard  started  for  an  afternoon  drive  together. 
"  She  will  not  know  anything  more  when  she  brings 
him  back." 

But  in  this  Mrs.  Hexamer  did  wrong  to  Ethel's 
resources.  The  young  wife  did  know  something 
more  when  she  brought  her  husband  back  from  their 
drive  through  the  pleasant  country.  They  returned 


The  Broken  Story  283 

looking  like  an  engaged  couple,  rather  than  parents 
whose  nursery  was  already  a  song  of  three  little 
voices. 

"  He  has  told  her,"  thought  Mrs.  Hexamer  at  the 
first  sight  of  them,  as  they  entered  the  drawing-room 
for  an  afternoon  tea.  "  She  does  understand  some 
things." 

And  when  after  dinner  the  ladies  had  withdrawn 
to  the  library,  and  waited  for  the  men  to  finish  their 
cigars,  Mrs.  Hexamer  spoke  to  Ethel.  "  My  dear, 
I  congratulate  you.  I  saw  it  at  once." 

"  But  he  hasn't.  Richard  hasn't  told  me  any 
thing." 

"  Ethel !  Then  what  is  the  matter?  " 

"  I  told  him  something.  I  told  him  that  if  it  was 
going  to  be  any  story  about  me,  I  should  simply 
follow  it  with  a  story  about  him." 

"Ethel!    You  darling!" 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  I  said  I  was  sure  you  would  all 
listen,  even  though  I  was  not  an  author  myself. 
And  I  have  it  ready,  you  know,  and  it's  awfully  like 
Richard,  only  a  different  side  of  him  from  the  bur 
glar  one." 

"  But,  my  dear,  what  did  he  do  when  you — " 

This  enquiry  was,  however,  cut  short  by  the  en 
trance  of  the  men.  And  from  the  glance  that  came 
from  Richard's  eyes  as  they  immediately  sought  out 
his  wife,  Mrs.  Hexamer  knew  that  he  could  not  have 
done  anything  very  severe  to  Ethel  when  she  made 
that  threat  to  him  during  their  drive. 


284  A  House  Party 

Richard  at  once  made  his  way  to  the  easy  chair 
arranged  each  night  in  a  good  position  for  the  nar 
rator  of  the  evening,  and  baptised  '  The  Singstool ' 
by  Mr.  Young.  Mr.  Young  was  an  ardent  Wag- 
nerian,  and  especially  devoted  to  The  Mastersingers 
of  Nuremburg, 

"  Shall  we  have,"  he  whispered  to  Mr.  Zander,  "  a 
Beckmesser  fiasco  to-night,  or  will  it  be  a  Walter 
success  ?  " 

But  Mr.  Zander  besides  being  an  author  and  a 
critic,  cared  little  for  the  too  literary  cleverness  of 
Mr.  Young,  He  therefore  heavily  crushed  that  gen 
tleman's  allusion  to  Wagner's  opera.  "  I  remem 
ber,"  he  said,  "  the  singing  contest  between  Beck 
messer  and  Walter,  and  I  doubt  if  we  are  to  be 
afflicted  with  anything  so  dull  in  this  house." 

Richard  had  settled  himself  in  the  easy  chair,  and 
'was  looking  thoughtfully  at  various  objects  in  the 
room,  while  the  small-talk  was  subsiding  around 
him. 

"Why,  Mr.  Field,"  said  Mrs.  Hexamer,  ''you 
look  as  if  you  could  find  nothing  to  suggest  your 
story  to  you." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Richard,  "  it  is  the  num 
ber  of  things  that  suggest  it.  This  newspaper  here, 
that  has  arrived  since  I  was  last  in  the  room, 
has  a  column  which  reminds  me  very  forcibly  of  the 
experience  that  I  have  selected  to  tell  you.  But  I 
think  the  most  appropriate  of  all  is  that  picture." 
He  pointed  to  the  largest  on  the  wall.  "  '  Breaking 


The  Broken  Story  285 

Home  Ties '  is  its  title,  I  remember  very  well.  It 
is  a  replica  of  the  original  that  drew  such  crowds  in 
the  Art  Building  at  the  World's  Fair." 

While  Richard  was  saying  this,  his  wife  had  pos 
sessed  herself  of  the  newspaper,  and  he  now  ob 
served  how  eagerly  she  was  scanning  its  pages.  "  It 
is  the  financial  column,  Ethel,  that  recalls  my 
story." 

Ethel,  after  a  hopeless  glance  at  this,  resumed  her 
seat  near  the  sofa  by  Mrs.  Hexamer. 

"  There  were  many  paintings,"  continued  Rich 
ard,  "  in  that  Art  Building,  of  merit  incomparably 
greater  than  '  Breaking  Home  Ties ' ;  and  yet  the 
crowd  never  looked  at  those,  because  it  did  not  un 
derstand  them.  But  at  any  hour  of  the  day,  if  you 
happened  to  pass  this  picture,  it  took  you  some  time 
to  do  so.  You  could  pass  any  of  John  Sargent's 
pictures,  for  instance,  at  a  speed  limited  only  by  your 
own  powers  of  running;  but  you  could  never  run 
past  '  Breaking  Home  Ties  '.  You  had  to  work 
your  way  through  the  crowd  in  front  of  that,  just 
as  you  have  to  do  at  a  fire,  or  a  news  office  during 
a  football  game.  The  American  people  could  never 
get  enough  of  that  mother  kissing  her  boy  good-bye, 
while  the  wagon  waits  at  the  open  door  to  take  him 
away  from  her  upon  his  first  journey  into  the  world. 
The  idea  held  a  daily  pathos  for  them.  Many  had 
themselves  been  through  such  leave  takings;  and  no 
word  so  stirs  the  general  heart  as  the  word 
'mother'.  Song  writers  know  this;  and  the  artist 


286  A  House  Party 

knew  it  when  he  decided  to  paint  '  Breaking  Home 
Ties '.  And  '  MOTHER  '  is  the  title  of  my  story 
to-night." 

"  '  Mother  '  " !  This  was  Ethel's  bewildered  echo. 
"  Whose  Mother  "  ?  she  softly  murmured  to  herself. 

Richard  continued.  "  It  concerns  the  circum 
stances  under  which  I  became  engaged  to  my  wife." 

There  was  a  movement  from  Ethel  as  she  sat  by 
the  sofa. 


MOTHER 


C4  IV  TOT  all  the  circumstances,  of  course,"  went 
^  on  the  narrator.  "  There  are  certain  cir 
cumstances  which  naturally  attend  every 
engagement  between  happy  young  people,  and 
which  we  keep  to  ourselves  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  anyone  who  has  been  engaged  is  able  to 
form  a  very  correct  idea  of  them.  I  imagine 
they  prevail  in  all  countries,  just  as  the  feeling 
about  '  mother  '  prevails.  Yes,  '  Mother  '  is  the 
right  title  for  my  story,  as  you  will  see.  Is  it  not 
strange  that  if  you  add  '  in-law  ',  how  immediately 
the  sentiment  of  the  word  is  altered? — as  strongly 
indeed  as  when  you  prefix  the  term  '  step  '.  But  it 
is  with  neither  of  these  secondary  forms  of  mother 
that  my  story  deals. 

"  Ethel  has  always  maintained  that  if  I  had  really 
understood  her,  it  never  would  have  happened.  She 
says—" 

"  Richard,  I  "— 

"  My  dear,  you  shall  tell  your  story  afterwards, 
and  I  promise  to  listen  without  a  word  until  you 
are  finished.  Mrs.  Field  says  that  if  I  had  under 
stood  her  nature  as  a  man  ought  to  understand  the 
girl  he  has  been  thinking  about  for  several  years,  I 
should  have  known  she  cared  nothing  about  my  in- 


288  A  House  Party 

"I  didn't  care!  I'd  have"—  but  Mrs.  Field 
checked  her  outburst. 

"  She  was  going  to  say,"  said  Mr.  Field,  "  that 
had  I  asked  her  to  marry  me  when  I  became  sure 
that  I  wished  to  marry  her,  she  would  have  been 
willing  to  leave  New  York  and  go  to  the  waste  land 
in  Michigan  that  was  her  inheritance  from  a  grand 
father,  and  there  build  a  cabin  and  live  in  it  with  me; 
and  that  while  I  shot  prairie  chickens  for  dinner  she 
would  have  milked  the  cow  which  some  member  of 
the  family  would  have  been  willing  to  give  us  as  a 
wedding  present  had  we  so  desired." 

Richard  made  a  pause  here,  and  looked  at  his  wife 
as  if  he  expected  her  to  correct  him.  But  Ethel  was 
plainly  satisfied  with  his  statement,  and  he  therefore 
continued. 

"  I  think  it  is  nice  when  a  girl  is  ready  to  do  so 
much  as  that  for  a  man.  But  I  should  not  think  it 
nice  in  a  man  to  allow  the  girl  he  loved  to  do  it  for 
him.  Nor  did  I  then  know  anything  about  the  lands 
in  Michigan — though  this  would  have  made  no  dif 
ference.  Ethel  had  been  accustomed  to  a  house 
several  stories  high,  with  hot  and  cold  water  in  most 
of  them,  and  somebody  to  answer  the  door-bell." 

"The  door-bell"!  exclaimed  Ethel.  "I  could 
have  gone  without  hearing  that." 

"  Yes,  Ethel,  only  to  hear  the  welkin  ring  would 
have  been  enough  for  you.  I  know  that  you  are 
sincere  in  thinking  so.  And  that  is  all  we  should 
have  heard  in  Michigan.  But  the  more  truly  a  man 


Mother  289 

loves  a  girl,  the  less  can  he  bear  taking  her  from  an 
easy  to  a  hard  life.  I  am  sure  that  all  the  men  here 
agree  with  me." 

There  was  a  murmur  and  a  nod  from  the  men,  and 
also  from  Mrs.  Hexamer.  But  the  other  ladies  gave 
no  sign  of  assenting  to  Richard's  proposition. 

"  In  those  days,"  said  he,  "  I  was  what  in  the  curt 
parlance  of  the  street  is  termed  a  six-hundred-dollar 
clerk.  And  though  my  ears  had  grown  accustomed 
to  this  appellation,  I  never  came  to  feel  that  it  com 
pletely  described  me.  In  passing  Tiffany's  window 
twice  each  day  (for  my  habit  was  to  walk  to  and 
from  Nassau  Street)  I  remember  that  seeing  a  thou 
sand-dollar  clock  exposed  for  sale  caused  me  annoy 
ance.  Of  course  my  salary  as  a  clerk  brought  me 
into  no  unfavourable  comparison  with  the  clock;  and 
I  doubt  if  I  could  make  you  understand  my  some 
times  feeling  when  I  passed  Tiffany's  window  that 
I  should  like  to  smash  the  clock. 

"  I  met  Ethel  frequently  in  society,  dancing  with 
her,  and  sitting  next  her  at  dinners.  And  by  the 
time  I  had  dined  at  her  own  house,  and  walked  sev 
eral  afternoons  with  her,  my  lot  as  a  six-hundred- 
dollar  clerk  began  to  seem  very  sad  to  me.  I  wrote 
verses  about  it,  and  about  other  subjects  also.  From 
an  evening  with  Ethel  I  would  go  next  morning  to 
the  office  and  look  at  the  other  clerks.  One  of  them 
was  fifty-five  and  still  received  six-hundred — his 
wages  for  the  last  thirty  years.  I  was  then  twenty- 
three;  and  though  I  never  despaired  to  the  extent  of 


290  A  House  Party 

believing  that  years  would  fail  to  increase  my  value 
to  the  firm  by  a  single  cent,  still,  what  could  I  hope? 
If  my  salary  were  there  and  then  to  be  doubled,  what 
kind  of  support  was  twelve  hundred  dollars  to  offer 
Ethel,  with  her  dresses,  and  her  dinners,  and  her 
father's  carriage?  For  two  years  I  was  wretchedly 
unhappy  beneath  the  many  hours  of  gaiety  that  came 
to  me,  as  to  every  young  man." 

"  Those  two  years  we  could  have  been  in  Mich 
igan/'  said  Ethel,  "  had  you  understood." 

"  I  know.  But  understanding,  I  believe  that  I 
should  do  the  same  again.  At  the  office  when  not 
busy,  I  wrote  more  poetry,  and  began  also  to  write 
prose,  which  I  found  at  the  outset  less  easy.  When 
my  first  writings  were  accepted  (they  were  four  sets 
of  verses  upon  the  Summer  Resort)  I  felt  that  I 
could  soon  address  Ethel;  for  I  had  made  ten  dol 
lars  outside  my  salary.  Had  she  not  been  in  Europe 
that  July,  I  believe  that  I  should  have  spoken  to  her 
at  once.  But  I  sent  her  the  paper;  and  I  have  the 
letter  that  she  wrote  in  reply." 

"  I  "—  began  Ethel.     But  she  stopped. 

"  Yes,  I  know  now  that  you  kept  the  verses," 
said  Richard.  "  My  next  manuscript,  however,  was 
rejected.  Indeed,  I  went  on  offering  nearly  every 
week  until  the  following  January  before  a  second  ac 
ceptance  came.  It  was  twenty-five  dollars  this  time, 
and  almost  made  me  feel  again  that  I  could  hand 
somely  support  Ethel.  But  not  quite.  After  the 
first  charming  elation  at  earning  money  with  my 


Mother  291 

pen,  those  weeks  of  refusal  had  caused  me  to  think 
more  soberly.  And  though  I  was  now  bent  upon 
becoming  an  author  and  leaving  Nassau  Street,  I 
burned  no  bridges  behind  me,  but  merely  filled  my 
spare  hours  with  writing  and  with  showing  it  to 
Ethel. 

"  It  was  now  that  the  second  great  perturbation  of 
my  life  came  to  me.  I  say  the  second,  because  the 
first  had  been  the  recent  dawning  belief  that  Ethel 
thought  about  me  when  I  was  not  there.  This  idea 
had  stirred — but  you  will  understand.  And  now, 
what  was  my  proper,  my  honourable  course?  It 
was  a  positive  relief  that  at  this  crisis  she  went  to 
Florida.  I  could  think  more  quietly.  My  writing 
had  come  to  be  quite  often  accepted,  sometimes  even 
solicited.  Should  I  speak  to  her,  and  ask  her  to 
wait  until  I  could  put  a  decent  roof  over  her  head, 
or  should  I  keep  away  from  her  until  I  could  offer 
such  a  roof  ?  Her  father,  I  supposed  could  do  some 
thing  for  us.  But  I  was  not  willing  to  be  a  pen 
sioner.  His  business — were  he  generous — would  be 
to  provide  cake  and  butter;  but  the  bread  was  to  be 
mine — and  bread  was  still  a  long  way  off,  according 
to  New  York  standards.  These  things  I  thought 

1  over  while  she  was  in  Florida;  yet  when  once  I 

I  should  find  myself  with  her  again,  I  began  to  fear 
that  I  could  not  hold  myself  from — but  these  are 
circumstances  which  universal  knowledge  renders 

I  it  needless  to  mention,  and  I  will  pass  to  the  second 

i  perturbation. 


292  A  House  Party 

"  A  sum  of  money  was  suddenly  left  me.  Then 
for  the  first  time  I  understood  why  I  had  during  my 
boyhood  been  so  periodically  sent  to  see  a  cross  old 
brother  of  my  mother's,  who  lived  near  Cold  Stream 
on  the  Hudson,  and  whom  we  called  Uncle  Snaggle- 
tooth  when  no  one  could  hear  us.  Uncle  Godfrey 
(for  I  have  called  him  by  his  right  name  ever  since) 
died  and  left  me  what  in  those  old  days  six  years  ago 
was  still  a  large  amount.  To-day  we  understand 
what  true  riches  mean.  But  in  those  by-gone  times 
six  years  ago,  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  could  still, 
as  it  were,  be  seen  with  the  naked  eye.  That  was 
my  bequest  from  Uncle  Godfrey,  and  I  felt  myself  to 
be  the  possessor  of  a  fortune." 

At  this  point  in  Richard's  narrative,  a  sigh  escaped 
from  Ethel. 

"  I  know,"  he  immediately  said,  "  that  money  is 
always  welcome.  But  it  is  certainly  some  consola 
tion  to  reflect  how  slight  a  loss  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  is  counted  to-day.  And  I  did  not  lose  all  of 
it. 

"  I  met  Ethel  at  the  train  on  her  return  from 
Florida,  and  crossed  with  her  on  the  ferry  from  Jer 
sey  City  to  Desbrosses  Street.  There  I  was  obliged 
to  see  her  drive  away  in  the  carriage  with  her 
father." 

"  Mr.  Field,"  said  Mrs.  Hexamer,  "  What  hour 
did  that  train  arrive  at  Jersey  City  "  ? 

Richard  looked  surprised.  "  Why,  seven-fifteen 
p.  M."  he  replied.  "  The  tenth  of  March." 


Mother  293 

"  Dark  " !  Mrs.  Hexamer  exclaimed.  "  Mr.  Field, 
you  and  Ethel  were  engaged  before  the  ferry  boat 
landed  at  Desbrosses  Street." 

Richard  and  Ethel  both  sat  straight  up,  but  re 
mained  speechless. 

"  Pardon  my  interruption,"  said  Mrs.  Hexamer 
smiling.  "  I  didn't  want  to  miss  a  single  point  in 
this  story — do  go  on  "  ! 

Richard  was  obliged  to  burst  out  laughing,  in 
which  Ethel,  after  a  moment,  followed  him,  though 
perhaps  less  heartily.  And  as  he  continued,  his 
blush  subsided. 

"  With  my  Uncle  Godfrey's  legacy  I  was  no  longer 
dependent  upon  my  salary,  or  my  pen,  or  my  father's 
purse;  and  I  decided  that  with  the  money  properly 
invested,  I  could  maintain  a  modest  establishment  of 
my  own.  Ethel  agreed  with  me  entirely;  and,  after 
a  little,  we  disclosed  our  plans  to  our  families,  and 
they  met  with  approval.  This  was  in  April,  and  we 
thought  of  October  or  November  for  the  wedding. 
It  seemed  long  to  wait;  but  it  came  near  being  so 
much  longer,  that  I  grow  chilly  now  to  think  of  it. 

"  Of  course,  I  went  steadily  on  with  my  work  at 
the  office  in  Nassau  Street,  nor  did  I  neglect  my 
writing  entirely.  My  attention,  however,  was  now 
turned  to  the  question  of  investing  my  fortune.  Just 
round  the  corner  from  our  office  was  the  firm  of 
Blake  and  Beverly,  Stocks  and  Bonds.  Thither 
my  steps  began  frequently  to  turn.  Mr.  Beverly 
had  business  which  brought  him  every  week  to  the 


294  A  House  Party 

room  of  our  president;  and  so  having  a  sort  of  ac 
quaintance  with  him,  I  felt  it  easier  to  consult  him 
than  to  seek  any  other  among  the  brokers,  to  which 
class  I  was  a  well-nigh  total  stranger.  He  very 
kindly  consented  to  be  my  adviser.  I  was  pleased  to 
find  how  much  I  had  underrated  the  interest  bearing 
capacity  of  my  windfall.  '  Four  per  cent ! '  he  cried, 
when  I  told  him  this  was  the  extent  of  my  expecta 
tions.  '  Why  you're  talking  like  a  trustee/  And 
then  seeing  that  his  meaning  was  beyond  me,  he  ex 
plained  in  his  bluff,  humorous  manner.  '  All  a 
trustee  cares  for,  you  know,  is  his  reputation  for 
safety.  It's  not  his  own  income  he's  nursing,  and 
so  he  doesn't  care  how  small  he  makes  it,  provided 
only  that  his  investments  would  be  always  called 
safe.  Now  there  are  ways  of  being  safe  without 
spending  any  trouble  or  time  upon  it;  and  those  are 
the  ways  a  trustee  will  take.  For  example,'  and 
here  he  arose,  and  unhooking  a  file  of  current  quo 
tations  from  the  wall,  placed  it  in  my  lap  as  I  sat 
beside  him.  '  Now  here  are  Government  three's 
selling  at  108  3-8.  They  are  as  safe  as  the  United 
States;  and  if  I  advised  you  to  buy  them,  it  would 
cost  me  no  thought,  and  my  character  for  safety 
would  run  no  risk  of  a  blemish.  That  is  the  sort 
of  bond  that  a  trustee  recommends.  But  see  what 
income  it  gives  you.  Roughly  speaking,  about 
twenty-eight  hundred  dollars.' 

"  '  That  would  not  do  at  all,'  said  I,  thinking  of 
Ethel  and  October, 


Mother  295 

"  '  Certainly  not  for  you/  returned  Mr.  Beverley, 
gaily.  '  If  you  were  a  timorous  old  maid,  now,  who 
would  really  like  all  her  money  in  her  stocking  in 
gold  pieces,  only  she's  ashamed  to  say  so!  But  a 
young  fellow  like  you  with  no  responsibility,  no  wife, 
and  butcher's  bill — it's  quite  another  thing ! ' 

"  '  Quite,'  said  I,  '  oh,  quite  '  " ! 

"  Richard,"  interrupted  Ethel,  "  do  you  have  to 
make  yourself  out  so  simple  "  ? 

"  My  dear,  you  forget  that  we  are  all  bound  on 
this  occasion  to  keep  to  actual  experiences.  The 
part  of  my  story  that  is  coming  now  is  one  where 
I  should  be  very  glad  to  draw  upon  my  imagination. 

"  Mr.  Beverly  now  ran  his  finger  up  and  down 
various  columns.  '  Here  again,'  said  he,  '  is  a 
typical  trustee  bond,  and  nets  you  a  few  hundred 
dollars  more  at  present  prices.  New  York  Central 
and  Hudson  River  3  i-2's.  Or  here  are  West  Shore 
4's  at  113  5-8.  But  you  see  it  scales  down  to  pretty 
much  the  same  thing.  The  sort  of  bond  that  a  trus 
tee  will  call  safe  does  not  bring  the  owner  more  than 
about  three  and  one-half  per  cent.' 

"  '  Why  there  are  some  six  per  cent  bonds ' !  I 
said;  and  I  pointed  them  out  to  him. 

"  '  Selling  at  137  7-8,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Beverly. 
'  Deducting  the  tax,  there  you  are  scaled  down  again/ 
He  pencilled  some  swift  calculations.  '  There ' 
said  he.  And  I  nearly  understood  them.  *  Now 
I'm  not  here  to  stop  your  buying  that  sort  of  petti 
coat  and  canary-bird  wafer/  continued  Mr.  Bev- 


296  A  House  Party 

erly.  '  It's  the  regular  trustee  move,  and  nobody 
could  criticise  you  if  you  made  it.  It's  what  I  call 
thoughtless  safety,  and  it  brings  you  about  31-2 
per  cent,  as  I  have  already  shown  you.  Anybody 
can  do  it/ 

"  These  words  of  Mr.  Beverly  made  me  feel  that 
I  did  not  want  to  do  what  anybody  could  do. 
'  There  is  another  kind  of  safety  which  I  call  thought 
ful  safety,'  said  he.  '  Thoughtful,  because  it  re 
quires  you  to  investigate  properties  and  their  earn 
ings,  and  generally  to  use  your  independent  judg 
ment  after  a  good  deal  of  work.  And  all  this  a 
trustee  greatly  dislikes.  It  rewards  you  with  five 
and  even  six  per  cent,  but  that  is  no  stimulus  to  a 
trustee/ 

"  Something  in  me  had  leaped  when  Mr.  Beverly 
mentioned  six  per  cent.  Again  I  thought  of  Ethel 
and  October,  and  what  a  difference  it  would  be  to 
begin  on  six  instead  of  four  thousand  dollars  a 
year,  outside  of  what  I  was  earning. 

"  Mr.  Beverly  now  rang  a  bell.  '  You  happen 
to  have  come/  said  he,  '  on  a  morning  when  I  can 
really  do  something  for  you  out  of  the  common. 
Bring  me  (it  was  a  clerk  he  addressed)  one  of  those 
Petunia  circulars.  Now  here  you  can  see  at  a  glance 
for  yourself/  He  began  reading  the  prospectus  rap 
idly  aloud  to  me  while  I  followed  its  paragraphs 
with  my  own  eye.  His  strong,  well-polished  thumb 
nail  ran  heavily  but  speedily  down  the  columns  of 
figures  and  such  words  as  gross  receipts,  increase 


Mother  297 

of  population,  sinking  fund,  redeemable  at  105  after 
1906,  churned  vigourously  and  meaninglessly 
through  my  brain.  But  I  was  not  going  to  let  him 
know  that  to  understand  the  circular  I  should  have 
to  take  it  away  quietly  to  my  desk  in  Nassau  Street, 
and  spend  an  hour  with  it  alone. 

'  What's  your  opinion  of  Petunia  Water  sixes?  ' 
he  inquired. 

'  They  are  a  lead-pipe  cinch/  I  immediately  an 
swered  ;  and  he  slapped  me  on  the  knee. 

"  '  That's  what  I  think  ' !  he  cried.  '  Anyhow,  I 
have  taken  10,000  for  mother.  Do  what  you  like/ 

"  '  Oh  well/  said  I,  delighted  at  this  confidence,  '  I 
think  I  can  afford  to  risk  what  you  are  willing  to 
risk  for  your  mother,  Mrs.  Beverly.  Where  is 
Petunia,  did  not  say  '  ? 

"  He  pulled  down  a  roller  map  on  the  wall  as 
you  draw  down  a  window-blind,  and  again  I  listened 
to  statements  that  churned  in  my  brain.  Petunia 
was  a  new  resort  on  the  sea-coast  of  New  Hamp 
shire.  One  railway  system  did  already  connect  it 
with  both  Portsmouth  and  Portland,  but  it  was  not 
a  very  direct  connection  at  present.  Yet  in  spite 
of  this,  the  population  had  increased  23  and  seven- 
tenths  per  cent  in  five  years,  and  now  an  electric  rail 
way  was  in  construction  that  would  double  the  popu 
lation  in  the  next  five  years.  This  was  less  than 
what  had  happened  to  other  neighbouring  resorts 
under  identical  conditions;  yet  with  things  as  they 
now  were,  the  company  was  earning  two  per  cent  on 


298  A  House  Party 

its  stock,  which  was  being  put  into  improvements. 
The  stock  was  selling  at  30  and,  if  a  dividend  was 
paid  next  year,  it  would  go  to  par.  But  Mr.  Bev 
erly  did  not  counsel  buying  the  stock.  '  I  did  not 
let  mother  have  any/  he  said,  *  though  I  took  some 
myself.  But  the  bonds  are  different.  You're  get 
ting  the  last  that  will  be  sold  at  par.  In  three  days 
they  will  be  placed  before  the  public  at  105.' 

'"I  was  well  pleased  when  I  left  Mr.  Beverly's 
office.  In  a  few  days  I  was  still  more  pleased  to 
learn  that  I  could  sell  my  Petunia  sixes  for  1 06  if  I 
so  wished.  But  I  did  not  wish  it,  and  Mr.  Beverly 
told  me  that  he  should  not  sell  his  mother's  unless 
they  went  to  1 10.  'In  that  case,'  said  he,  '  it  might 
be  worth  while  to  capitalise  her  premium.' 

"  I  liked  the  idea  of  capitalising  one's  premium. 
If  you  had  ten  bonds  that  cost  you  par,  and  sold  them 
at  no,  you  would  then  buy  at  par  eleven  bonds  of 
some  other  rising  kind,  and  go  on  doing  this  until — I 
named  no  limit  for  this  process;  but  my  delighted 
mind  saw  visions  of  eight  and  ten  thousand  a  year, 
and  I  explained  to  Ethel  what  the  phrase  capitalising 
one's  premium  meant.  I  showed  her  the  Petunias 
too,  and  we  read  what  it  said  on  the  coupons  aloud 
together.  Ethel  was  at  first  not  quite  satisfied 
with  the  arrangement  of  the  coupons.  Thirty 
dollars  on  January  first,  and  thirty  on  July  first,'  she 
said.  '  That  seems  a  long  while  to  wait  for  those 
payments,  Richard.  And  there  are  only  two  in  every 
year,  though  you  pay  them  a,  thousand  dollars  all 


Mother  299 

at  once.  It  does  not  seem  very  prompt  on  their  part/ 
I  told  her  that  this  was  the  rule.  '  But/  she  urged, 
'  don't  you  think  that  a  man  like  Mr.  Beverly 
might  be  able  to  get  them  to  make  an  exception  if 
he  explained  the  circumstances?  Other  people  may 
be  satisfied  with  waiting  for  little  crumbs  in  this 
way,  but  why  should  we  '  ?  I  soon  made  her  under 
stand  how  it  was,  however,  and  I  explained  many 
other  facts  about  investments  and  the  stock  market 
to  her,  as  I  learned  them.  It  was  a  great  pleasure  to 
do  this.  We  came  to  talk  about  finance  even  more 
than  we  talked  of  my  writings;  for  during  that 
Spring  I  invested  a  good  deal  more  rapidly  than 
I  wrote.  The  Petunias  had  only  taken  one-tenth 
of  my  hundred  thousand  dollars;  and  though  Mr. 
Beverly  warned  me  to  rush  hastily  into  nothing, 
and  pointed  out  the  good  sense  of  distributing  my 
eggs  in  a  number  of  baskets,  still  we  both  agreed 
that  the  sooner  all  my  money  was  bringing  me  five 
or  six  per  cent,  the  better. 

"  I  have  come  to  think  that  it  might  be  well  were 
women  taught  the  elements  of  investing  as  they  are 
now  taught  French  and  Music.  I  would  not  have 
the  French  and  Music  dropped,  but  I  would  add  the 
other.  It  might  be  more  of  a  protection  to  women 
than  being  able  to  read  a  French  novel,  and  perhaps 
some  day  we  shall  have  it  so.  But  of  course  it  had 
been  left  totally  out  of  Ethel's  education ;  and  at  first 
she  merely  received  my  instruction  and  took  my  opin 
ions.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before  she  began  to 


300  A  House  Party 

entertain  some  of  her  own,  obliging  me  not  infre 
quently  to  reason  with  her.  I  very  well  remember 
the  first  occasion  that  this  happened. 

"  We  had  been  as  usual  talking  about  stocks,  as 
we  walked  on  the  Riverside  drive  on  a  Sunday  after 
noon  in  May.  Ethel  had  been  for  some  moments 
silent.  '  Richard/  she  finally  began,  '  if  I  had  had 
the  naming  of  these  things,  I  should  never  have  called 
them  securities.  Insecurities  comes  a  great  deal 
nearer  what  they  are.  What  right  has  a  thing  that 
says  on  its  face  it  is  worth  a  thousand  dollars  to  go 
bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  way  most  of  them  do? 
I  think  that  securities  is  almost  sarcastic.  And  have 
you  noticed  the  price  of  those  Petunias  ?  ' 

4 1  had,  of  course,  noticed  it;  but  I  had  not  men 
tioned  it  to  Ethel.  '  I  read  the  papers  now,'  she 
explained,  '  morning  and  evening.  Of  course  the 
market  is  off  a  little  on  account  of  the  bank  state 
ment.  But  that  is  not  enough  to  account  for  the 
Petunias/ 

"  '  Ethel,  you  are  nervous/  I  said.  '  And  it  is  the 
papers  which  make  you  so.  The  Petunias  are  a  first 
lien  on  the  whole  property,  of  which  the  assessed 
valuation — ' 

"  '  What  is  the  good/  she  interrupted,  '  of  a  first 
lien  on  something  which  depends  on  politics  for  its 
existence,  if  the  politicians  change  their  minds? 
Did  you  not  see  that  bill  they're  thinking  of  pass- 
ing?" 

"  I  was  startled  by  what  Ethel  told  me,  for  the 


Mother  301 

article  in  the  paper  had  escaped  my  notice.  But 
Mr.  Beverly  explained  it  to  me  in  a  couple  of  min 
utes.  '  Ha ! '  he  jovially  exclaimed,  on  my  entering 
his  office  on  Monday  morning;  '  you  want  to  know 
about  Petunias.  They  opened  at  85  I  see.'  He  then 
ran  the  tape  from  the  ticker  through  his  clean  strong 
hands.  '  Here  they  are  again.  Five  thousand  sold 
at  83.  Now,  if  they  go  to  70,  I'll  very  likely  take 
ten  thousand  more  for  mother.  It's  all  Frank 
Smith's  bluff,  you  know.  He  wants  a  jag  of  the 
water-works  stock,  more  than  they  say  they  agreed 
he  should  have.  So  he's  shaking  this  bill  over  them 
which  would  allow  the  city  to  build  its  own  water- 
plant,  and  of  course  run  the  present  company  out  of 
business.  Not  a  thing  in  it !  All  bluff.  He'll  get 
the  stock,  I  suppose.  What's  that  ?  '  he  broke  off 
to  a  clerk  who  came  with  a  message.  '  Wants  500 
preferred  does  he?  Buyer  30?  Very  well,  he  can't 
:  have  it.  Say  so  from  me.  Now/  he  resumed  to 
me,  '  take  a  cigar  by  the  way.  And  don't  buy  any 
more  Petunias  until  I  tell  you  the  right  moment. 
Do  you  see  where  your  Amalgamated  Electric  has 
gone  to  ?  ' 

"  I  had  seen  this.  It  had  scored  a  2O-point  rise 
since  my  purchase  of  it;  and  I  felt  very  sorry  that 
I  had  not  taken  Mr.  Beverly's  advice  and  bought  a 
hundred  shares.  It  had  been  on  a  day  when  I  had 
felt  unaccountably  cautious,  and  I  had  taken  only 
twenty-five  shares  of  Amalgamated  Electric.  There 
are  days  when  one  is  cautious  and  days  when  one  is 


302  A  House  Party 

venturesome;  and  they  seem  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  results. 

"  *  They're  going  to  increase  the  dividend/  said 
Mr.  Beverly,  and  I  smoked  his  excellent  cigar.  *  It's 
good  for  twenty  points  higher  by  the  end  of  the 
week.  I  had  just  got  mother  a  few  more  shares.' 

"  I  left  Mr.  Beverly's  office  the  possessor  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  shares  of  Amalgamated 
Electric,  and  also  entirely  reassured  about  my  Pe 
tunias.  He  always  made  me  feel  happy.  His  keen 
laughing  brown  eyes,  and  crisp  well-brushed  hair, 
and  big  somewhat  English  way  of  chaffing  (he  had 
gone  to  Oxford,  where  he  had  rowed  on  a  winning 
crew)  carried  a  sense  of  buoyant  prosperity  that  went 
with  his  wiry  figure  and  good  rough  London  clothes. 
His  face  was  almost  as  tawny  as  an  Indian's  with 
the  out-door  life  that  he  took  care  to  lead.  I  was 
always  flattered  when  he  could  spare  any  time  to 
clap  me  on  the  shoulder  and  crack  a  joke. 

"  Amalgamated  Electric  had  risen  five  more  points 
before  the  board  closed  that  afternoon.  This  was 
the  first  news  that  I  told  Ethel. 

" '  Richard/  said  she,  '  I  wish  you  would  sell 
that  stock  to-morrow.' 

But  this  I  saw  no  reason  for;  and  on  Tuesday  it 
had  gained  seven  points  further.  Ethel  still  more 
strongly  urged  me  to  sell  it.  I  must  freely  admit 
that."  And  the  narrator  paused,  reflectively. 

"  Thank  you,  Richard,"  said  Ethel  from  the  sofa. 
"  And  I  admit  that  I  could  give  you  no  reason  for 


Mother  303 

my  request,  except  that  it  all  seemed  so  sudden. 
And — yes — there  was  one  other  thing.  But  that 
was  even  more  silly." 

"  I  believe  I  know  what  you  mean,"  replied  Rich 
ard,  "  and  I  shall  come  to  it  presently.  If  any  one 
was  silly,  it  was  not  you. 

"  I  did  not  sell  Amalgamated  Electric  on  Wednes 
day,  and  on  Thursday  a  doubt  about  the  increased 
dividend  began  to  be  circulated.  The  stock,  never 
theless,  after  a  forenoon  of  weakness,  rallied. 
Moreover,  a  check  for  my  first  dividend  came  from 
the  Pollyopolis  Heat,  Light,  Power,  Paving,  Press 
ing,  and  Packing  Company. 

"  *  What  a  number  of  things  it  does  ' !  exclaimed 
Ethel,  when  I  showed  her  the  company's  check. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  replied,  and  quoted  Browning  to  her : 
'  Twenty-nine  distinct  damnations.  One  sure  if  the 
other  fails.'  Beverly's  mother  has  a  lot  of  it.' 

"  But  Ethel  did  not  smile.  '  Richard,'  she  said, 
'  I  do  wish  you  had  more  investments  with  ordinary 
simple  names,  like  New  York  and  New  Haven,  or 
Chicago  and  Northwestern.'  And  when  I  told  her 
that  I  thought  this  was  really  unreasonable,  she  was 
firm.  '  Yes,'  she  replied,  '  I  don't  like  the  names — 
not  most  of  them,  at  least.  Dutchess  and  Columbia 
Traction  sounds  pretty  well;  and  besides  that,  of 
course  one  knows  how  successful  these  electric  rail 
ways  are.  But  take  the  Standard  Egg  Trust,  and 
the  Patent  Pasteurised  Infant  Rubber  Feeder  Com 
pany/ 


304  A  House  Party 

"'Why  Ether !  I  exclaimed,  'those  are  both 
based  upon  great  inventions,  Mr.  Beverly — " 

"  But  she  interrupted  me  earnestly.  '  I  know 
about  those  inventions,  Richard,  for  I  have  procured 
the  prospectuses.  And  I  wish  that  I  could  have 
told  you  my  own  feeling  about  them  before  you 
bought  any  of  the  stock." 

"  '  I  do  not  think  you  can  fully  have  taken  it  in, 
Ethel.' 

"  '  I  trust  that  it  may  not  have  fully  taken  you  in/ 
she  replied.  '  Have  you  noticed  what  those  stocks 
are  selling  for  at  present'  ? 

"  Of  course  I  had  noticed  this.  I  had  paid  63  for 
Standard  Egg,  and  it  was  now  48,  while  1 1  was  the 
price  of  Patent  Pasteurized  Feeder,  for  which  I  had 
paid  20.  But  this,  Mr.  Beverly  assured  me,  was  a 
normal  and  even  healthy  course  for  a  new  stock. 
'  Had  they  gone  up  too  soon  and  too  high/  he  ex 
plained,  '  I  should  have  suspected  some  crooked 
manipulation  and  advised  selling  at  once.  But  this 
indicates  a  healthy  absorption  preliminary  to  a  nat 
ural  rise.  I  should  not  dream  of  letting  mother 
part  with  hers/ 

"  The  basis  of  Standard  Egg  was  not  only  a 
monopoly  of  all  the  hens  in  the  United  States,  but 
a  machine  called  a  Separator,  for  telling  the  age  and 
state  of  an  egg  by  means  of  immersion  in  water. 
Perfectly  good  eggs  sank  fast  and  passed  out  through 
one  distributer;  fairly  nice  eggs  did  not  reach  the 


Mother  305 

bottom,  and  were  drawn  off  through  another  sluice, 
and  so  on.  This  saved  the  wages  of  the  egg  twir- 
lers,  whose  method  of  candling  eggs,  as  it  was  called, 
was  far  less  rapid  than  the  Separator.  And  when  I 
learned  that  one  house  in  St.  Louis  alone  twirled 
50,000  eggs  in  a  day,  the  possible  profits  of  the  Egg 
Trust  became  clear  to  me.  But  they  were  not  so  clear 
to  Ethel.  She  said  that  you  could  not  monopolise 
hens.  That  they  would  always  be  laying  eggs  and 
putting  it  in  the  power  of  competitors  to  hatch  them 
by  incubators.  Nor  did  she  have  confidence  in  the 
Pasteurised  Feeder.  '  Even  if  you  get  the  parents 
to  adopt  it/  she  said,  *  you  cannot  get  the  children. 
If  they  do  not  like  the  taste  of  the  milk  as  it  comes 
out  of  the  bottle  through  the  Feeder,  they  will  simply 
not  take  it.' 

"  '  Well/  I  answered,  '  old  Mrs.  Beverly  is  hold 
ing  on  to  hers.' 

"When  I  said  this,  Ethel  sat  with  her  mouth 
tight.  Then  she  opened  it  and  said :  '  I  hate  that 
woman.' 

'  Hate  her  ?    Why  you  have  never  so  much  as 
laid  eyes  on  her.' 

"  '  That  is  not  at  all  necessary.  I  consider  it  in 
decent  for  a  grey-haired  woman  with  grandchildren 
to  be  speculating  in  the  stock  market  every  week 
like  a  regular  bull  or  bear.' 

"  Every  point  in  this  outburst  of  Ethel's  seemed  to 
me  so  unwarrantable  that  I  was  quite  dazed.  I  sat 


306  A  House  Party 

looking  at  her,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  '  Oh 
Richard ' !  she  exclaimed,  '  she  will  ruin  you,  and  I 
hate  her'! 

"  '  My  dear  Ethel,'  I  replied,  '  she  will  not.  And 
only  see  how  you  are  making  it  all  up  out  of  your 
head.  You  have  never  seen  her,  but  you  speak  of 
her  as  a  grey-haired  grandmother.' 

'  She  must  be,  Richard.  You  have  told  me  that 
Mr.  Beverly  is  a  married  man  and  about  forty-five. 
No  doubt  he  has  older  sisters  and  brothers.  But  if 
he  has  not,  his  mother  can  hardly  be  less  than  sixty- 
five,  and  he  has  probably  been  married  for  several 
years.  He  might  easily  have  a  daughter  coming  out 
next  winter,  and  a  son  at  Harvard  or  Yale;  and  if 
their  grandmother's  hair  is  not  grey,  that  is  quite 
as  unnatural  as  her  speculating  in  this  way  at  her 
age.  She  must  be  a  very  unlady-like  person.' 

"Ethel,  I  saw,  was  excited.  Therefore  I  made  no 
more  point  of  her  theories  concerning  the  appear 
ance  and  family  circle  of  old  Mrs.  Beverly.  But  in 
justice  to  myself  I  felt  obliged  to  remind  her,  first, 
that  I  was  investing,  not  speculating,  and  second, 
that  it  was  Mr.  Beverly's  advice  I  was  following, 
and  not  that  of  his  mother.  '  Had  he  not  spoken 
of  her,'  I  said,  'I  should  have  remained  unaware  of 
her  existence/ 

" '  She  is  at  the  bottom  of  it  all  the  same/  said 
Ethel.  '  Everything  you  have  bought  has  been  be 
cause  she  bought  it.' 

"  '  That  is  not  quite  the  right  way  to  put  it,"  I  re- 


Mother  307 

plied.  '  I  was  willing  to  buy  these  securities  be 
cause  Mr.  Beverly  thought  so  highly  of  them  that 
he  felt  justified  in — ' 

"  '  There  is  no  use/  interrupted  Ethel,  '  in  our  go 
ing  round  this  circle  as  if  we  were  a  pair  of  squirrels. 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  hate  that  woman  for  my  sake, 
but  I  cannot  change  my  own  feeling.  Do  you  re 
member,  Richard,  about  the  City  of  Philippi  Sewer 
Bonds?  You  did  not  want  to  buy  them  at  first. 
You  told  me  yourself  that  you  thought  new  towns  in 
Texas  were  apt  to  buzz  suddenly  and  then  die  be 
cause  all  the  people  hurried  away  to  some  newer 
town  and  left  the  houses  and  stores  standing  empty. 
But  Mr.  Beverly's  mother  got  some,  and  all  your 
hesitation  fled.  And  now  I  see  that  the  Gulf,  Gal- 
veston,  and  Little  Rock  is  going  to  build  a  branch 
that  may  make  Philippi  a  perfectly  unnecessary 
town.  If  you  sold  these  bonds  to-day,  how  much 
would  you  lose  '  ? 

'  I  did  not  enjoy  telling  Ethel  how  much,  but  I 
had  to.  '  Only  fifteen  hundred  dollars  '  I  said. 

'  More  than  double  your  whole  year's  salary,'  said 
Ethel.  '  Well,  I  hope  his  mother  will  lose  a  great 
deal  more  than  that/ 

"  The  change  of  May  into  June,  and  the  change  of 
June  into  July,  did  not  mellow  Ethel's  bitter  feel 
ings.  I  remember  the  day  after  Petunias  defaulted 
on  their  interest,  that  she  exclaimed,  '  I  hope  I  shall 
never  meet  her  ' !  We  always  called  Mr.  Beverly's 
mother  '  she '  now.  '  For  if  I  were  to  meet  her/ 


308  A  House  Party 

continued  Ethel,  '  I  feel  I  should  say  something  that 
I  should  regret.  Oh,  Richard,  I  suppose  we  shall 
have  to  take  cheaper  apartments ! ' 

"  I  put  a  cheerful  and  even  jocular  face  on  the 
matter,  for  I  could  not  bear  to  see  Ethel  so  depressed. 
But  it  was  hard  work  for  me.  Some  few  of  my  in 
vestments  were  evidently  good ;  but  it  always  seemed 
as  if  it  was  into  these  that  I  had  happened  to  put 
not  much  money,  while  the  bulk  of  my  fortune  was 
entangled  in  the  others.  Besides  the  usual  mid- 
Summer  faintness  that  overtakes  the  stock  market, 
my  own  specialties  were  a  good  deal  more  than 
faint.  On  the  2Oth  of  August  I  took  the  afternoon 
train  to  spend  my  two  weeks'  holiday  at  Lenox ;  and 
during  much  of  the  journey  I  gazed  at  the  Wall 
Street  edition  of  the  afternoon  paper  that  I  had  pur 
chased  as  I  came  through  the  Grand  Central  Station. 
Ethel  and  I  read  it  in  the  evening. 

"  '  I  wonder  what  she's  buying  now  ?  '  said  Ethel, 
vindictively. 

"  '  Well,  I  can't  help  feeling  sorry  for  her,'  I  an 
swered,  with  as  much  of  a  smile  as  I  could  produce. 

"  '  That  is  so  unnecessary,  Richard !  She  can 
easily  afford  to  gratify  her  gambling  instinct.' 

"  '  There  you  go,  Ethel,  inventing  millions  for  her 
just  as  you  invented  grandchildren.' 

"  '  Not  at  all.  Unless  she  constantly  had  money 
lying  idle,  she  could  not  take  these  continued  plunges. 
She  is  an  old  woman  with  few  expenses,  and  she 
lives  well  within  her  income.  You  would  hear  of 


Mother  309 

her  entertaining  if  it  was  otherwise.  So  instead  of 
conservatively  investing  her  surplus,  she  makes 
ducks  and  drakes  of  it  in  her  son's  office.  Is  he  at 
Hyde  Park  now  '  ?  Hyde  Park  was  where  the  old 
Beverly  country  seat  had  always  been. 

"  '  No/  I  answered.  '  He  went  to  Europe  early 
last  month/ 

"  '  Very  likely  he  took  her  with  him.  She  is  prob 
ably  at  Monte  Carlo/ 

"  '  Scarcely  in  August,  I  fancy.    And  I'll  tell  you 

what,  Ethel.     I  have  been  counting  it  up.     She  has 

lost  three  thousand  dollars  in  the   Standard   Egg 

alone.     It  takes  a  good  deal  of  surplus  to  stand 

i  that/ 

"  '  Serve  her  right/  said  Ethel.  '  And  I  would  say 
so  to  her  face/ 

"  September  brought  freshness  to  the  stock  market, 
but  not  to  me.  Mr.  Beverly,  like  the  well-to-do 
man  that  he  was,  remained  away  in  Europe  until 
October  should  require  his  presence  as  a  guiding 
hand  in  the  office.  Thus  was  I  left  without  his  buoy 
ant  consolation  in  the  face  of  my  investments. 

"  Petunias  were  being  adjusted  on  a  four  per  cent 

basis;  Dutchess  and  Columbia  Traction  was  holding 

\  its  own;  I  could  not  complain  of  Amalgamated  Elec- 

:  trie,  though  it  was  now  lower  than  when  I  had 

bought  it,  while  had  I  sold  it  on  that  Wednesday  in 

May  when  Ethel  begged  me,  before  the  increased 

dividend  turned  out  a  mistake,  I  should  have  made 

money.     But  Philippi  Sewers  were  threatened;  Pas- 


310  A  House  Party 

teurised  Feeders  had  been  numb  since  June;  Polly- 
opolis  Heat,  Light,  Power,  Paving,  Pressing,  and 
Packing  was  going  to  pass  its  quarterly  dividend; 
and  Standard  Egg  had  gone  down  from  63  to  7  1-8. 
My  hundred  thousand  dollars  on  paper  now  was 
worth  in  reality  about  thirty-seven  thousand. 

"  I  must  say  now,  and  I  shall  never  forget,  that 
Ethel  during  these  gloomy  weeks  behaved  much 
better  than  I  did.  The  greyer  the  outlook  became, 
the  more  words  of  hope  and  sense  she  seemed  to 
find.  She  reminded  me  that,  after  all,  my  Uncle 
Godfrey's  legacy  had  been  a  thing  unlocked  for, 
something  out  of  my  scheme  of  life;  that  I  had  my 
youth,  my  salary,  and  my  writing;  and  that  she 
would  wait  till  she  was  as  old  as  Mr.  Beverly's 
mother. 

"  It  was  the  thought  of  that  lady  which  brought 
from  Ethel  the  only  note  of  complaint  she  uttered  in 
my  presence  during  that  whole  dreary  month. 

"  We  were  spending  Sunday  with  a  house  party  at 
Hyde  Park;  and  driving  to  church  we  passed  an 
avenue  gate  with  a  lodge.  '  Rockhurst,  sir '  said 
the  coachman.  '  Whose  place  ?  '  I  inquired.  *  The 
old  Beverly  place,  sir/  Ethel  heard  him  tell  me 
this;  and  as  we  went  on,  we  saw  a  carriage  and  pair 
coming  down  the  avenue  toward  the  gate  with  that 
look  which  horses  always  seem  to  have  when  they  are 
taking  the  family  to  church  on  Sunday  morning. 

"  '  If  I  see  her,'  said  Ethel  to  me  as  we  entered  the 
door,  '  I  shall  be  unable  to  say  my  prayers/ 


Mother  311 

"  But  only  young  people  came  into  the  Beverly 
pew,  and  Ethel  said  her  prayers  and  also  sang  the 
hymns  and  chants  very  sweetly. 

"  After  the  service,  we  strolled  together  in  the  old 
and  lovely  graveyard  before  starting  homeward. 
We  had  told  them  that  we  should  prefer  to  walk 
back.  The  day  was  beautiful,  and  one  could  see  a 
little  blue  piece  of  the  river,  sparkling. 

"  '  Here  is  where  they  are  all  buried,'  said  Ethel, 
and  we  paused  before  brown  old  headstones  with 
Beverly  upon  them.  'Died  1750;  died  1767,'  con 
tinued  Ethel,  reading  the  names  and  inscriptions. 
'  I  think  one  doesn't  mind  the  idea  of  lying  in  such 
a  place  as  this. 

"  Some  of  the  young  people  in  the  pew  now  came 
along  the  path.  '  The  grandchildren  '  said  Ethel. 
'  She  is  probably  too  old  to  come  to  church.  Or  she 
is  in  Europe.' 

"  The  young  people  had  brought  a  basket  with 
flowers  from  their  place,  and  now  laid  them  over 
several  of  the  grassy  mounds.  '  Give  me  some  of 
yours,'  said  one  to  the  other,  presently;  '  I've  not 
enough  for  grandmother's/ 

"  Ethel  took  me  rather  sharply  by  the  arm.  '  Did 
you  hear  that  ?  '  she  asked. 

"  '  It  can't  be  she,  you  know/  said  I.  '  He  would 
have  come  back  from  Europe.' 

"  But  we  found  it  out  at  lunch.  It  was  she,  and 
she  had  been  dead  for  fifteen  years. 

"  Ethel  and  I  talked  it  over  in  the  train  going  up 


312  A  House  Party 

to  town  on  Monday  morning.  We  had  by  that  time 
grown  calmer.  '  If  it  is  not  false  pretences,'  said  she, 
'  and  you  cannot  sue  him  for  damages,  and  if  it  is 
not  stealing  or  something,  and  you  cannot  put  him 
in  prison,  what  are  you  going  to  do  to  him,  Rich 
ard?' 

"  As  this  was  a  question  which  I  had  frequently 
asked  myself  during  the  night,  having  found  no  sat 
isfactory  answer  to  it,  I  said :  '  What  would  you  do 
in  my  place,  Ethel  ?  '  But  Ethel  knew. 

"  '  I  should  find  out  when  he  sails,  and  meet  his 
steamer  with  a  cow-hide.' 

"  '  Then  he  would  sue  me  for  damages.' 

"  '  That  would  be  nothing,  if  you  got  a  few  good 
cuts  in  on  him/ 

"  '  Ethel,'  I  said,  '  please  follow  me  carefully.  I 
should  like  dearly  to  cow-hide  him,  and  for  the  sake 
of  argument  we  will  consider  it  done.  Then  comes 
the  law  suit.  Then  I  get  up  and  say  that  I  beat  him 
because  he  made  me  buy  Standard  Egg  at  63  by 
telling  me  that  his  mother  had  some,  when  really  the 
old  lady  had  been  dead  for  fifteen  years.  When  I 
think  of  it  in  this  way,  I  do  not  feel ' — 

"  'I  know/  interrupted  Ethel,  *  you  are  afraid  of 
ridicule.  All  men  are.' 

Had  Ethel  insisted,  I  believe  that  I  should  have 
cow-hided  Mr.  Beverly  for  her  sake.  But  before 
his  return,  our  destinies  were  brightened.  Copper 
had  been  found  near  Ethel's  waste  lands  in  Mich 
igan,  and  the  family  business  man  was  able  to  sell 


Mother  3 1 3 

her  property  for  two  hundred  thousand  dollars.  He 
did  this  so  promptly  that  I  ventured  to  ask  him  if 
delay  might  not  have  brought  a  greater  price. 
'  Well,'  he  said,  '  I  don't  know.  You  must  seize 
these  things.  Blake  and  Beverly  might  have  got 
tired  waiting.' 

"  '  Blake  and  Beverly  ' !  I  exclaimed.  '  So  they 
made  the  purchase.  Is  Mr.  Beverly  back  '  ? 

"  '  Just  back.  To  tell  the  truth  I  don't  believe 
they're  finding  so  much  copper  as  they  hoped.' 

"  This  turned  out  to  be  true.  And  I  am  not  sure 
that  the  business  man  had  not  known  it  all  the  while. 
'  We  looked  over  the  property  pretty  thoroughly  at 
time  of  the  Tamarack  excitement,'  he  said.  And  in 
a  few  days  more,  in  fact,  it  was  generally  known 
that  this  land  had  returned  to  its  old  state  of  not 
quite  paying  the  taxes. 

"  Then  I  paid  my  visit  to  Mr.  Beverly,  but  with 
no  cow-hide.  '  Mr.  Beverly,'  said  I,  '  I  want  to 
announce  to  you  my  engagement  to  Miss  Ethel 
Lansing,  whose  Michigan  copper  land  you  have 
lately  acquired.  I  hope  that  you  bought  some  for 
your  mother.' 

"  Those,"  concluded  Mr.  Richard  Field,  "  are  the 
circumstances  attending  my  engagement  which  I 
felt  might  interest  you.  And  now  Ethel,  tell  your 
story,  if  they'll  listen." 

"  Richard,"  said  Ethel,  "  that  is  the  story  I  was 
going  to  tell." 


314  A  House  Party 

"  Before  any  one  says  anything,'*  commanded 
Mrs.  Goddard,  "  will  somebody  please  imitate  the 
darkey  of  the  Broken  Story  and  put  a  log  on  the 
fire?" 

At  the  behest  three  men  rose,  with  a  resulting 
confusion,  a  clatter  of  falling  poker,  tongs,  and 
shovel,  and  a  start  backward  by  Mrs.  Hexamer,  one 
of  the  dowagers,  which  knocked  over  the  Japanese 
screen  she  had  drawn  up  behind  her  fat  and  bejetted 
shoulders  to  protect  them  from  the  draught.  Al 
though  the  screen  was  seized  by  a  man,  it  had  al 
ready  succeeded  in  displacing  from  the  corner  of  a 
picture  frame  on  the  wall  above,  a  Mexican  peon's 
hat — an  object  steeple-crowned,  betasselled,  of  many 
colours,  which  fell  with  a  rakish  slant  directly  upon 
the  summit  of  Mrs.  Hexamer's  own  waving  chestnut 
pompadour.  "  Bless  me !  "  cried  the  lady,  uttering 
a  well-bred  little  scream,  and  putting  up,  to  the  sal 
vation  of  her  maid's  handiwork,  a  pair  of  exquisite 
white  hands  displaying  rings  familiar  at  the  tables 
d'hote  of  two  continents.  "  This  hat  is  the  one  I 
brought  you,  on  the  return  from  my  last  journey  to 
Mexico — and  a  pretty  penny  they  made  me  pay  to 
get  it,  and  my  drawn-work,  and  opals,  through  that 
wretched  little  custom  house  on  the  border — the  sort 
of  experience  that  always  impresses  on  us  how  much 
better  it  is  to  buy  our  souvenirs  of  travel  in  the 
shops  at  home." 

"  There  is  another  sort  of  an  experience  of  yours, 
GenevieVe,"  answered  her  hostess,  seizing  an  oppor- 


Mother  315 

tunity  deftly  presented,  "  of  which  I  always  hoped 
you  might  some  day  be  brought  to  reveal  the  true  in 
wardness.  I  mean  the  occasion  of  that  interrupted 
visit  to  your  husband's  maguey  plantations  when  you 
took  out  with  the  party  in  your  private  car — well, 
call  her  Mabel  Glynn — the  prettiest  girl  of  the  year, 
nursed  her  through  some  sort  of  a  fever  in  a  little 
wayside  inn,  and  brought  her  home  engaged  to  the 
man  whom  she  afterward  married,  and  whom  it  was 
known  she  had  refused  at  least  twice  during  the  sea 
son  before." 

"  How  delicious !  "  exclaimed  a  girl,  straighten 
ing  herself  up  to  listen. 

"  You  girls  always  enjoy  the  idea  of  ante-nuptial 
discipline  of  men/'  said  a  man. 

"  Poor  children !  It  is  their  golden  hour  for  that 
sort  of  thing,  as  no  one  knows  better  than  you, 
Genevieve,"  said  a  spinster. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Goddard.  "You  see  you 
have  the  reputation  of  having  made  many  matches 
in  the  course  of  the  series  of  expeditions  by  yacht 
and  car,  when  you  act  Fairy  Godmother  and 
whisk  young  people  off  to  all  the  pleasant  places  to 
be  discovered." 

"  My  husband  and  I  find  our  best  enjoyment  in 
borrowing  other  people's  children  to  play  with,  since 
we  have  none  of  our  own  "  responded  the  Fairy  God 
mother,  evasively. 

"  But  the  truth  about  '  Mabel  Glynn's '  affair — 
what  better  time  to  divulge  it  ?  "  persisted  Mrs.  God- 


316  A  House  Party 

dard.  "  Everybody  knew  she  was  infatuated  with 
some  wild  scapegrace  of  a  young  Englishman — 
name  forgotten,  if  I  ever  heard  it — whom  she  had 
met  at  her  brother's  ranch  in  Colorado,  that  she  was 
bent  on  marrying,  to  the  dismay  of  her  guardians 
— that  the  man  was  supposed  to  have  been  killed 
in  a  railway  accident,  that  spring  you  carried  her  off 
to  Mexico — and  that  although  the  poor  girl  made  an 
excellent  wife  to  Lovering  Carr  for  a  few  years,  she 
is  now  dead,  and  her  husband  is  living  permanently 
abroad. 

"  After  all,"  said  Mrs.  Hexamer,  sighing  as  she 
shook  off  her  reverie,  "  who  is  there  left  to  know  or 
care  ?  Poor  '  Mabel's '  husband  is  a  wanderer  in 
foreign  parts,  and  has  long  since  ceased  to  write  to 
me.  .  .  .  However,  if  you  like,  I'll  tell  you  the 
story.  You  may  call  it  THE  FAIRY  GOD 
MOTHER'S  STORY,  if  you  please,  as  all  of  the 
other  stories  have  had  names." 


THE  FAIRY 
GODMOTHER'S   STORY 

**  I  WISH  I  could  make  the  rest  of  you  see  as  I 
I  do,  by  merely  looking  into  that  bed  of  hickory 
coals,  the  after  glow  of  a  Mexican  sunset  in  a 
wide  sky  arching  over  lonely  grey  plains,  and  lone 
lier  grey  mountains — behind  us,  stretching  far  away, 
the  shining  lines  of  steel,  along  which  we  had  thun 
dered  for  so  many  hot  and  weary  hours — the  de 
licious  cool  of  evening  falling — in  the  ragged  grass 
by  a  wayside  station  called  Fonseca  an  old  peon 
woman  under  her  blue  rebosa,  squatted  by  a  tiny  fire, 
serving  frijoles  to  a  ring  of  hungry  cargadores,  just 
in  from  a  twenty  mile  tramp  from  the  hills  carrying 
huge  piles  of  firewood  to  supply  the  little  adobe  city 
near  at  hand.  One  of  these  cargadores  I  can  see  dis 
tinctly,  still—" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  interrupted  one  of  the 
listeners.  "  But  what,  exactly,  are  cargadores  ?  " 

"  Native  porters  of  everything  from  pulque  in  a 
pig-skin  to  a  parlour-organ,"  answered  Mrs.  Hexa- 
mer.  "  As  I  said,  one  figure  of  the  group  impressed 
itself  immediately  and  strongly  upon  me,"  went  on 
Mrs.  Hexamer.  It  was  that  of  a  tall,  dark,  smooth- 
shaven,  sinewy  young  man,  wearing  the  usual  crim 
son  serape  and  high-crowned  hat,  a  mountain  of 
branches  and  twigs  towering  upon  his  shoulders,  his 
pose  against  the  pink  of  the  evening  sky  the  very 

317 


3 1 8  A  House  Party 

embodiment  of  manly  grace  and  vigour.  I  describe 
him  to  you,  because  of  what  came  afterward — I  only, 
of  all  our  party,  happened  to  be  out  on  the  rear  plat 
form,  taking  observations,  at  the  time.  The  rest  of 
them  were  in  their  state-rooms,  tidying  for  dinner, 
trying  for  the  twentieth  time  to  get  rid  of  the  coating 
of  alkali  dust  that  had  sifted  through  the  ventilators 
and  windows.  When  Mabel  Glynn  came  out  of  her 
stateroom  presently,  I  called  her  to  look  at  the  pic 
turesque  scene,  and  especially  at  the  muscular  de 
velopment  of  the  young  man  I  had  singled  out. 

"  We  were  alone  together,  but  for  the  flagman  who 
was  hurrying  off,  having  just  swung  himself  over  the 
gate  of  the  platform  after  hanging  out  his  red  lights; 
and  at  that  moment,  the  train  was  again  in  motion, 
running  slowly  through  a  double  line  of  native  huts, 
ifrom  which  women,  boys  and  children  issued  in 
throngs  to  beset  our  progress  with  the  usual  cry  for 
small  silver.  What  ailed  Mabel  I  could  not  imagine, 
but  she  uttered  a  plaintive  little  cry  and,  as  I  turned, 
threw  herself  into  my  arms.  I  took  her  inside,  put 
her  upon  the  sofa,  sent  my  maid  for  salts  and  eau- 
de-cologne  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  she  vehemently  de 
claring  it  was  nothing  but  the  effect  of  that  roasting 
afternoon.  As  the  child  was  pale  and  shaky,  I  in 
sisted  upon  her  not  coming  to  dinner  with  our  racket 
ing  little  party,  to  which  she  readily  consented,  only 
bargaining  that  the  maid  should  not  bother  her  with 
food. 

"  '  You  are  sure — quite  sure  that  we  mayn't  tempt 


The  Fairy  Godmother's  Story       3 1 9 

you  with  a  tiny  morsel  or  two  ? '  I  asked,  as  we  re 
luctantly  filed  away  to  the  dining  compartment,  leav 
ing  her  in  the  gathering  darkness  of  the  sitting 
room.  But  Mabel  shook  her  head.  In  vain  my  hus 
band  urged  a  glass  of  champagne,  and  a  bit  of 
chicken.  She  wanted  nothing,  nobody,  begged  that 
the  lights  should  not  be  lit,  that  she  might  have  a 
perfectly  quiet  half  hour  in  which  to  recover  from 
her  teasing  little  headache. 

"  We  did  as  the  girl  asked,  giving  orders  to  the 
servants  not  to  go  near  that  end  of  the  car.  In  the 
brief  time  that  ensued  between  our  soup  and  coffee, 
Mabel  Glynn  had  an  experience  that  coloured  the 
whole  remainder  of  her  short  life,  poor  child,  and 
that,  I  honestly  believe,  sent  her  to  her  grave  with  a 
heartache  that  nothing  could  remove.  Little  did 
we,  chaffing  and  trifling  over  the  dainty  dishes  of 
our  travellers'  menu,  dream  that  but  the  length  of 
a  corridor  and  a  couple  of  staterooms  away  from  us, 
our  pretty  joyous  guest  was  being  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  grim  reality  of  a  tragedy  in  which  the 
chief  actor  was  the  man  she  had  loved  with  all  the 
passion  of  her  girlish  heart/' 

"  Good  gracious  " !  exclaimed  a  girl,  hysterically, 
and  then,  a  little  ashamed  of  her  emotion,  tried  to 
sit  back,  so  that  the  firelight  should  not  play  upon 
her  face. 

Then,  as  the  story  teller  paused,  she  said,  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  dearest  Mrs.  Hexamer,  "  I  prom 
ise  not  to  do  it  again." 


320  A  House  Party 

"  No  matter,"  said  the  Fairy  Godmother,  who,  at 
heart,  was  not  sorry  for  this  chance  to  steady  her 
voice  and  marshall  her  recollections.  "  I  shall 
have  to  go  back,  here,  to  tell  you  that  Mabel's  people 
had  given  me  a  hint  of  the  preoccupied  state  of  her 
affections,  assuring  me,  however,  that  the  young 
man,  after  squandering  and  gambling  away  his  own 
fortune  and  everything  else  he  could  lay  hands 
upon  in  the  East,  and  becoming  the  hero  of  a  number 
of  dashing  adventures  that  had  endeared  him  to  the 
Western  neighbourhood  where  Miss  Glynn  had  the 
misfortune  to  meet  him,  had  suddenly  dropped  out  of 
the  knowledge  of  his  acquaintances  in  both  sections 
of  the  country.  For  six  or  eight  months,  the  girl 
who  considered  herself  pledged  to  him  wherever  and 
whenever  he  might  claim  her,  had  gone  through  all 
the  agonies  of  hope  deferred  concerning  him.  Just 
before  I  invited  her  to  accompany  us  on  the  journey, 
she  had  announced  to  her  friends  her  final  resolution 
to  give  up  her  unworthy  lover,  and  try  to  live  down 
the  wrecked  years  of  her  young  life  which  he  had 
caused/' 

"  The  wretch !  "  said  some  one. 

"  Mabel  Glynn  could  no  more  help  loving  and 
trusting,  than  a  flower  can  help  opening  to  the  sun," 
said  Mrs.  Hexamer.  "  And  now  for  her  story  of 
what  happened  during  that  interval  when  she  was 
left  alone  in  the  rear  of  our  good  car,  Catawissa. 
For  a  time  after  we  ran  out  of  the  station  where  the 
wood-carriers  were  having  their  supper,  Mabel  lay 


The  Fairy  Godmother's  Story      321 

upon  the  couch  on  which  I  had  ensconced  her,  with 
both  hands  clasped  over  her  eyes,  her  brain  whirling 
in  confusion,  her  heart  beating  violently.  In  the 
young  cargadore  whom  I  had  singled  out  for  his 
beauty  and  extraordinary  look  of  strength,  she  had 
recognised  her  recreant  lover,  whom,  for  convenience 
sake,  we  will  call  James  Montieth,  although  neither 
of  those  names  was  given  to  him  in  baptism,  or  in 
herited  from  his  forbears.  She  knew  him  instantly 
— with  certainty.  But  he  did  not  see  her,  standing 
as  she  did,  behind  me,  a  little  back  in  the  doorway 
of  the  car. 

'*  It  was  not  only  a  thrill  of  unexpected  meeting, 
and  of  Monteith's  strange  disguise  that  had  over 
come  her.  It  was  because  she  had  discerned  in  the 
face  and  figure  so  familiar  to  her  in  the  fond  com 
panionship  of  their  past  betrothal,  a  consciousness 
of  personal  danger  from  which  he  was  straining 
every  nerve  to  free  himself. 

"  What  was  he  doing  there,  among  those  low-born 
Indians,  human  beasts  of  burden,  living  a  life  of  in 
credible  toil  and  hardship,  apparently  one  of  them 
selves,  but  to  her  keen  glance  clearly  on  the  watch 
for  immediate  escape  from  his  degraded  situation, 
she  could  not  divine.  When  last  heard  from,  he 
had  been  said  to  be  getting  out  upon  a  mining  ven 
ture  in  Arizona.  Unknown  to  her  family,  she  had 
even  received  from  him  a  few  lines  of  farewell,  tell 
ing  her  that  in  his  present  enterprise  he  was  making 
a  final  bid  for  the  fortune  and  respectability  that,  so 


322  A  House  Party 

far  in  life,  had  eluded  him;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
asking  her  to  forget  one  who  had  crossed  her  path 
only  to  give  her  sorrow.  This  letter  she  had  treas 
ured  for  more  than  eight  months,  and  had  destroyed 
only  upon  setting  out  upon  our  long  journey.  The 
tragedy  of  his  present  predicament  was  what  Mabel's 
reason  told  her  might  have  been  expected — an  epi 
sode  in  keeping  with  Montieth's  reckless  career.  A 
thousand  times,  friends  had  warned  her  that  he  must 
some  day  come  to  open  grief  and  shame.  She  knew 
him  to  be  selfish,  unprincipled,  dissipated,  not  for  one 
moment  to  be  trusted — and  his  neglectful  treatment 
of  her  had  well-nigh  broken  her  heart.  But  at  the 
first  glimpse  of  him,  in  this  extremity,  at  the  world's 
mercy  as  she  believed,  her  love  had  sprung  up  again 
in  her  breast  like  a  flowing  fountain,  washing  all  out 
the  past.  Her  mad  impulse  had  been  to  leap  from 
the  car,  to  offer  him  her  help,  if  needs  were  to  offer 
to  share  whatever  peril  or  distress  might  be  his  por 
tion.  Then,  conventionality,  like  a  wall  of  steel,  had 
closed  her  in,  and  she  remained  spellbound,  still  as 
a  statue — gazing — gazing — until  the  train  moved 
off. 

"  Met  again — parted  again — and  under  such  cir 
cumstances  !  The  poor  child  had  summoned  all  her 
courage  to  conceal  her  despair  from  us,  and  not  until 
we  left  her,  did  she  dare  give  rein  to  her  wild  emo 
tion.  A  torrent  of  sobbing  came  at  last,  to  her  re 
lief.  The  porter,  as  usual,  when  we  went  out  of  our 
sitting-room  to  meals,  had  come  in  to  dust  and  air  it; 


The  Fairy  Godmother's  Story      323 

but  upon  receiving  orders  from  my  husband  to  leave 
Miss  Glynn  undisturbed,  had  contented  himself  with 
lighting  a  single  gas-jet  near  the  rear  door,  and  giv 
ing  chairs  and  tables  a  few  passes  with  his  inevitable 
dust-cloth.  After  Mabel  had  indulged  in  what 
women  technically  call  'a  good  cry,'  her  instinct  was, 
of  course,  to  get  rid  of  the  traces  of  it.  She,  accord 
ingly,  proceeded  to  open  the  car  door,  intending  to 
sit,  as  was  her  custom,  upon  a  camp  stool  on  the  ob 
servation  platform,  trusting  to  the  cool  night  air  to 
soothe  and  refresh  her.  We  were  running  smoothly 
over  an  excellent  road-bed  and,  as  she  stepped  out 
into  the  darkness,  she  saw  clinging  to  the  railing  of 
the  steel  gateway  at  one  side,  a  man's  crouching 
form.  Taking  him  to  be  one  of  the  numerous 
friendly  peons,  who,  in  those  parts,  swarm  around 
the  passenger  train,  stealing  rides  and  annexing 
from  the  proprietors  of  special  cars  and  their  guests, 
all  manner  of  trifling  gifts,  from  cigarettes  and  half 
worn  neckties  to  fruit  and  bonbons,  she  started 
slightly,  but  without  consciousness  of  alarm. 

"  '  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself/  she  said, 
in  Spanish,  rebukingly,  '  but  as  we  can't  be  far  from 
the  next  station,  rather  than  run  this  risk,  you  may 
get  over  on  the  platform  until  we  slow  up.' 

"  Mabel  expected  to  hear  murmured  in  return  a 
soft  expression  of  thanks,  to  see  the  usual  flash  of 
white  teeth  and  the  gleam  of  merry  dark  eyes  with 
which  those  happy-go-lucky  Indian  vagabonds  take 
all  the  goods  the  gods  provide  them.  It  was  part  of 


324  A  House  Party 

the  strange  dream  she  had  been  dreaming,  to  hear, 
instead,  her  own  name  uttered  in  a  low  agitated  voice. 
At  once,  the  peon  vaulted  across  the  boundary  be 
tween  them,  and  the  light  of  the  gas  within  the  car, 
fell  full  upon  the  face  of — James  Montieth. 

'  You,  you? '  he  said,  brokenly.  '  What  an  ex 
traordinary  turn  of  Fate.  Tell  me  quickly,  are  we 
likely  to  be  disturbed  by  any  of  your  friends  ?  ' 

'  They  are  all  at  dinner  at  the  other  end  of  the 
car/  she  faltered,  trembling  in  every  limb,  but  striv 
ing  for  self  control.  '  I  think  they  are  not  likely  to 
finish  till  after  we  pass  the  next  station,  since  I  heard 
the  porter  say  it  is  there  we  shall  take  in  the  fresh 
fruit  for  the  dessert/ 

'  Good,'  he  said  grimly.  '  I  saw  their  table  laid 
for  dinner,  and  took  the  chance  of  having  this  ride 
unobserved.  God  knows  that  I  never  dreamed  that 
you  are  one  of  the  party  I  envied  for  their  ease  and 
luxury,  still  more  for  their  food  and  drink.  Do  you 
know,  I  hadn't  a  centavo  to  pay  the  price  asked  by 
the  old  crone  for  her  frijoles  back  yonder  at  Fonseca 
and  so  had  to  pretend  that  I  didn't  want  'em.  But 
I'm  starving,  to  tell  the  truth,  so  empty  and  dizzy 
that  I  could  hardly  hang  on  to  this  rail/ 

"  '  Wait— wait ! '  she  said.  '  Let  me  think/ 
Rapidly  she  ran  inside,  closing  the  door  between 
them  and  went  back  to  her  old  place  on  the  couch, 
rang  up  the  porter,  and  told  him  that,  feeling  ever  so 
much  better,  she  should  like  a  nice  plate  full  of  dinner 
brought  as  quickly  as  he  could  prepare  it.  The  por- 


The  Fairy  Godmother's  Story      325 

ter,  like  everybody  else  upon  the  car,  was  at  the 
feet  of  this  lovely  and  gracious  creature,  so  in  a  few 
moments  he  was  back  again,  carrying  a  generous 
provision  of  dainties,  with  the  glass  of  champagne 
which  my  husband  had  insisted  should  accompany  it. 

"  '  Now,  Manuel,  I  have  all  I  want,  and  more; 
she  said,  smiling  upon  her  dusky  adorer,  and  trying 
to  conceal  the  odd  catch  in  her  voice.  '  Don't  come 
until  I  ring  for  you,  please,  and  thank  you  very 
much.' 

"  Manuel  stepped  off  as  proudly  as  if  a  queen  had 
spoken  to  him  and,  when  the  coast  was  again  clear, 
Mabel  carried  the  tray  out  upon  the  platform  where 
Montieth  received  it  with  the  snatch  of  a  hungry 
wolf.  Until  he  had  devoured  the  chief  part  of  the 
food,  and  drank  both  wine  and  water  served  with  it, 
he  did  not  attempt  to  speak  to  her,  although  they  sat 
together  almost  touching,  upon  two  stools.  The 
train  raced  on  through  the  night  and  only  the  stars 
looked  at  this  strange  reunion  of  two  people  who  had 
many  a  time  sworn  to  be  all  in  all  to  each  other,  while 
breath  might  be  in  their  bodies.  Eagerly  Mabel 
waited  till  he  was  ready  to  speak,  and  when  he  could 
eat  no  more,  Montieth — after  reconnoitering — 
carried  the  tray  inside,  and  set  it  upon  a  table,  re 
turning  like  a  giant  refreshed,  to  sit  again  beside  her. 

"  '  Poor  little  girl !  Hard  lines  for  you  to  get  the 
credit  of  an  appetite  like  mine/  he  said,  with  a  hard 
sort  of  laugh.  '  But  there's  no  help  for  it,  worse  luck ! 
How  this  meal  has  put  new  life  in  me!  Now,  see 


326  A  House  Party 

here/  he  added,  looking  around  him  at  the  land 
marks  of  their  route.  '  I've  got  about  ten  minutes 
more  before  we  come  into  the  next  station,  at  which 
point  I  propose  to  climb  up  on  the  top  of  your  car 
and  take  a  snooze  for  another  twenty  miles  or  so, 
for  I'm  as  dead  beat  for  sleep  as  I  was  for  food. 
While  you're  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  rich  and 
virtuous,  my  dear,  try  to  forget  that  up  on  the  bare 
boards  above  you  is  a  fellow  who  did  his  best  to 
spoil  your  life  and,  for  that  and  all  his  sins,  is  get 
ting  paid  to  the  bottom  dollar,  by  ill-luck." 

'  Do  you  think  that  will  comfort  me  ?  '  she  said, 
her  heart  swelling,  the  tears  ready  to  overflow  again. 
'  Won't  you  let  me  do  something  to  help  you — 
something  to  show  that  I've  still  trust  in  you,  and 
would  give  my  life  to  make  yours  a  different 
one?' 

"  '  I  believe  you  would,  my  dear/  he  said,  a  softer 
look  for  the  first  time  coming  into  his  eyes.  '  But 
its  no  use,  all  you  could  do,  would  be  water  spilled 
upon  the  ground,  not  to  be  gathered  up  again;  and 
you're  well  rid  of  me.  But  if  you  can't  reform  me, 
Mabel,  you  can  perhaps  spare  enough  money  to  get 
me  out  of  the  tightest  place  I  ever  tried  to  squeeze 
through.  In  two  words,  I'm  flying  for  my  life;  and, 
as  I  said,  I  haven't  a  cent  to  bless  myself.  About 
twelve  o'clock  to-night,  I  mean  to  drop  off  this  train, 
and  make  my  way  across  the  mountains  to  a  place  I 
know  of  where  there's  some  one  who  will  look  out 
for  me,  until  I  can  get  up  with  the  States  again." 


The  Fairy  Godmother's  Story      327 

"  *  Oh !  how  thankful  I  am ! '  she  cried,  fervently, 
4  that  I  cashed  that  cheque  in  New  Orleans,  and  got 
such  a  lot  of  Mexican  money.  It's  not  really  so 
much,  Jim — not  quite  a  hundred  dollars  of  our 
money — but  it  may  help  you  out." 

"  Montieth's  eyes  glittered  with  triumph  as  she 
put  her  fingers  into  the  gold  meshed  bag  hanging  by 
chains  to  her  waist,  extracting  its  contents,  which 
she  laid  within  his  eager  hand. 

"  '  You've  saved  me,  little  girl ! '  he  said,  exult- 
ingly.  '  With  this  cash  in  pocket,  I'm  not  afraid  of 
these  slow-coach  dagoes  catching  up  with  me.  Be 
sure,  if  I  live,  your  money  will  come  back  to  you 
some  day.  And  I'll  promise  it'll  be  without  a  word 
of  explanation;  nothing  to  remind  you  of  me  any 
more  than  if  it  came  out  of  the  grave.' 

"  '  Don't  say  that — don't  cut  me  off  from  all  hap 
piness  '  she  begged ;  but  he  was  obdurate. 

"  '  This  is  the  last  time,  Mabel,  the  very  last  time, 
I  swear,  that  I  cross  your  path  on  earth  '  was  what 
he  said.  Poor  child,  how  often  in  her  delirium  in 
the  fever  through  which  I  nursed  her  she  would  re 
peat  these  words !  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Hexamer,"  said  the  old  bachelor, 
"  when  we  asked  for  a  leaf  from  your  experience, 
we  looked  for  something  lively,  sparkling,  on  the 
lines  of  your  usual  animated  conversation.  Some 
thing  a  little  spiteful,  kind  at  heart,  shrewd,  pungent 
and  exhilarating.  Instead,  you  are  reducing  your 
hearers  to  the  verge  of  tears.  Look  at  all  the 


328  A  House  Party 

women.  Several  seem  on  the  point  of  deliquescence. 
Of  the  men,  I  myself,  own  to  most  lugubrious 
feelings." 

"  That's  not  fair,"  interposed  Mrs.  Goddard, 
in  a  vexed  tone.  "  Please,  good  people,  pay 
no  sort  of  attention  to  the  comments  of  a  cynical  old 
bachelor,  and,  Genevieve,  do  you  go  on  with 
your  story.  We  all  want  to  know  what  Montieth 
had  done  to  get  himself  into  such  a  scrape,  and  how 
that  poor  devoted  girl  contrived  to  get  him  out  of 
it." 

"  Nevertheless,  I've  had  a  needful  jog,"  an 
swered  Mrs.  Hexamer.  "  I  have  no  right  to  let 
my  own  feelings  and  partisanship  influence  the 
spirits  of  the  party.  What  I  know  came  to  me 
partly  in  the  disclosures  made  by  Mabel  Glynn 
during  her  illness  afterward,  partly  in  a  written 
statement  which  she  prepared  for  me  on  her  recovery, 
asking  me  to  show  it  to  one  other  of  our  party  who 
might  feel  himself  entitled  to  know  the  true  cause  of 
her  collapse  following  this  strange  adventure.  Per 
haps  you  will  not  be  as  much  surprised  as  she  was  on 
hearing  it  from  her  lover's  lips,  that,  after  fraternis 
ing  for  some  time  past  with  a  very  low  class  of 
Mexicans,  he  had  got  into  a  drinking  bout  with  one 
of  them,  ending  in  a  fight  with  knives,  in  which  he 
had  killed  his  adversary.  This  had  happened  in  the 
evening  of  the  day  before  Montieth  had  boarded  our 
train  as  a  stowaway.  The  death  of  the  peon  who 
had  previously  been  his  friend  and  benefactor,  com- 


The  Fairy  Godmother's  Story      329 

pletely  sobered  him.  When  he  knelt  over  the  body 
trying  vainly  to  bring  it  back  to  life,  the  idea  flashed 
into  his  mind  to  conceal  his  own  share  in  the  tragedy 
and  at  the  same  time  drop  forever  out  of  his  previous 
place  in  existence,  by  changing  clothes  with  the  dead 
man  upon  whose  person  he  left  certain  papers  of 
identification,  and  what  little  money  he  possessed. 
After  doing  this — they  were  near  by  a  railway  town 
named  Diaz, — he  dragged  the  body  over  to  the 
track,  and  left  it  there. 

"  Flying  from  the  place  of  doom,  Montieth  made 
his  way  up  to  a  woodman's  camp  on  the  mountain 
side,  where  a  train  of  cargadores  were  just  about  to 
set  out  with  their  burden  of  high-piled  fagots  for  the 
city  of  Fonseca  in  a  valley  twenty  miles  away.  Ask 
ing  for  employment  from  the  leader  of  the  gang, 
Montieth  obtained  it,  and  joined  the  procession  down 
the  rough,  burning  mountain  path,  carrying  his  un 
accustomed  load.  A  dreadful  feature  of  this  ex 
perience  was  that  the  simple  and  trustful  natives  who 
were  his  mates,  seemed  instinctively  to  avoid  him. 
When  it  was  time  for  them  to  eat  their  midday  meal, 
they  did  so  apart  from  him,  and  the  weight  of  shame 
and  misery  in  his  breast  kept  him  from  begging  the 
food  for  which  he  was  famishing. 

"  At  last,  the  long  terrible  day  wore  to  its  end,  and 
the  approach  of  our  train  just  as  the  cargadores  came 
to  a  halt  around  the  frijole  woman  at  Fonseca 
station  gave  Montieth  the  opportunity  he  coveted. 
It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  helped  himself  to  a 


330  A  House  Party 

ride  between  stations,  or  climbed  to  the  roof  of  a 
car  for  refuge  after  nightfall.  His  aim,  as  he  had 
told  Mabel,  was  to  make  his  way  to  a  certain  point 
on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains,  where  he  could 
be  sure  of  a  shelter,  and  of  help  to  get  out  of  Mexico. 
What  followed,  we  all  know. 

"  These  were  the  bare  outlines  of  the  tale  hurriedly 
told  to  Mabel  Glynn  by  her  lover  that  March  night 
in  the  desert,  as  they  rushed  onward  through  the 
mild  pure  air,  under  stars  shining  as  softly  as  with 
us  in  the  Northern  midsummer.  Their  isolation, 
the  strange  jumble  of  the  kaleidoscope  of  Fate  which 
had  thrown  them  thus  together,  above  all,  heir 
womanly  pity  for  his  desperate  straits,  stirred  her  to 
an  impulse  of  intense  feeling.  Forgetting  or  ignor 
ing  consequence,  she  hardly  waited  till  he  had  ceased 
to  speak,  before  bursting  into  a  passionate  appeal  to 
him  to  let  her  share  his  lot.  She  reminded  him 
that  she  was  of  age,  mistress  of  her  own  considerable 
fortune,  and  that  he  had  always  had  her  heart.  She 
proposed  to  him,  poor  girl,  to  make  his  way  to  a 
town  over  the  border,  wait  for  her  there,  and  that 
then,  as  soon  as  she  could  conveniently  join  him,  she 
would  marry  him  and  joyfully  accept  whatever  risk 
it  might  entail.  To  comfort  him,  to  devote  her  life 
to  soothing  and  shaping  his,  seemed  to  her  the 
highest  mission  imaginable,  and  his  refusal  to  accept 
her  sacrifice  would  be  worse  than  anything  she  might 
be  called  upon  to  bear  in  making  it. 

"  Poor  Mabel !  they  were  near  ing  the  spot  where 


The  Fairy  Godmothers  Story      331 

they  must  part,  and  her  whole  soul  went  into  her 
prayer.  To  his  credit  be  it  said,  Montieth,  for  once, 
was  thoroughly  touched  and  softened.  His  face 
worked,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  tried  to  an 
swer,  but  could  not.  He  knelt  at  her  feet,  lifted  the 
hem  of  her  skirt  and  kissed  it,  but  did  not  offer  so 
much  as  to  touch  her  finger-tips.  While  she  awaited 
his  answer,  in  half-ashamed,  palpitating  silence,  the 
brakes  began  to  tell  upon  their  speed.  ...  As 
the  train  slackened,  he  spoke,  and  spoke  desperately, 
telling  her  the  fatal  news  that  the  '  friend '  to 
whom  he  was  trying  to  push  his  way  was  his  wife — 
a  beautiful  Indian  girl,  whom  he  had  married  to  be 
a  comrade  and  caretaker  in  his  wild  wanderings, 
just  after  his  final  renunciation  of  all  claim  to 
Mabel's  hand! 

"  This  was  her  coup-de-grace !  All  else  she  could 
have  borne,  but  this  pierced  her  like  a  merciful 
sword.  There  was  no  time  for  Montieth  to  watch 
its  effect  on  her,  since  the  train  was  stopping.  He 
sprang  lightly  upon  the  gate  rail,  swung  himself  onto 
the  roof  of  the  car  and  disappeared.  She  thought 
she  heard  a  muttered  '  Good  bye,  darling/  but  could 
not  be  sure.  And  that  was  the  last  she  ever  saw  of 
James  Montieth ! 

"  The  girl  staggered  dumbfounded  back  into  the 
car,  hardly  knowing,  for  the  surging  of  blood  into 
her  brain,  what  had  befallen  her — but  conscious  of  a 
great  blank  that  nothing  could  ever  fill.  Fortu 
nately,  in  a  sense,  she  fainted,  and  the  arms  opened 


332  A  House  Party 

to  receive  her  were  those  of  Lovering  Carr.  He  had 
been  restless  and  anxious  all  during  our  dinner  and, 
at  the  earliest  moment,  stole  away  to  look  after  the 
girl  who  was  all  the  world  to  him " 

"  Oh!  the  poor  dear!  "  exclaimed  a  girl. 

"  No  comments  yet,"  ordered  somebody.  "  Let 
us  hear  the  rest  of  what  Mrs.  Hexamer  has  to  tell." 

"  The  '  rest '  is  obvious,"  said  Mrs.  Hexamer. 
"  When  I  came  out,  a  moment  later,  from  the  dining- 
room,  I  found  Mabel  lying  on  the  couch  in  a  dead 
faint — Carr  kneeling  beside  her,  almost  out  of  his 
wits  with  alarm.  I  and  my  maid,  a  competent  good 
soul,  took  the  child  in  hand,  had  her  carried  into  her 
stateroom,  and  worked  over  her  for  a  tiresome  time 
before  she  came  back  to  consciousness.  I  sat  by  her 
all  that  night,  and  by  morning,  I  saw  that  it  was  in 
dispensable  to  remove  her  from  the  train,  and  take 
possession  of  all  the  available  rooms  of  an  inn  in  a 
little  mountain  town  where  I  knew  there  was  a  good 
American  doctor  in  residence,  and  where  the  air  and 
views  were  glorious.  Mabel  did  not  '  come  to  her 
self  '  in  the  usual  way.  For  a  while  we  believed  her 
brain  to  be  permanently  affected.  The  doctor,  al 
though  a  clever  young  fellow,  was  plainly  discon 
certed  by  the  mystery  in  the  case.  Of  course  none  of 
us  could  have  dreamed  the  truth  of  her  strange  ad 
venture.  To  all  appearances,  the  blow,  whatever  it 
might  be,  had  fallen  upon  her  out  of  a  clear  sky.  I, 
however,  and  my  maid,  who  kept  watch  alternately, 
by  the  sick  bed,  soon  began  to  gather  from  her  talk 


The  Fairy  Godmother's  Story      333 

in  the  wanderings  of  fever,  that  something  altogether 
out  of  the  common  had  occurred  during  the  time  she 
had  been  left  alone.  And  yet  what  could  it  be? 
\Yhat,  in  reason,  could  have  befallen  her?  It  was 
Lovering  Carr  (haggard  and  sleepless  during  the 
first  access  of  her  fever,  haunting  the  corridor 
outside  our  rooms  in  the  hotel)  who  gave  me  the 
first  definite  clue.  In  the  second  morning  after  our 
hurried  transfer  from  the  car  to  the  little  inn  on  the 
mountain  crest,  Mr.  Carr  brought  me  a  local  journal 
published  at  Diaz,  from  which  he  translated  an  item 
under  the  head  of  local  news.  It  was  dated  the  day 
before,  and  stated  that  the  body  of  a  man,  apparently 
an  American  from  his  dress  and  belongings,  had  just 
been  found  in  a  mulitated  condition  upon  the  railway 
track  near  Diaz;  and  that  upon  examination,  by  the 
authorities,  of  the  papers  about  his  person,  he  had 
been  decided  to  be  a  certain  James  Montieth,  leader 
of  a  band  of  outlaws  who  for  some  months  past  had 
terrorised  their  neighbourhood.  But  a  fortnight 
since,  Montieth's  men — all  native  Mexicans — had 
raided  a  wagon  train  and  killed  two  drivers.  It 
was  a  source  of  great  relief  to  their  community  that 
the  daring  fellow  had  in  some  way  come  to  this 
tragic  ending,  since,  without  his  leadership,  the  band 
of  robbers  would  undoubtedly  fall  apart.  The  only 
person  likely  in  any  way  to  be  feared  as  Montieth's 
successor  was  his  second  in  command,  a  man  called 
Jose  Alvarez,  and  he  was  known  to  have  taken  flight, 
having  been  traced  in  the  disguise  of  a  wood  carrier 


334  A  House  Party 

over  the  mountain  to  Fonseca,  where  he  undoubtedly 
boarded  a  train  south-bound,  and  must  subsequently 
have  left  it  unknown  to  the  train  hands,  to  escape  in 
safety  to  the  mountains. 

"  '  And  you  think,  Mr.  Carr — ?'  I  began,  after 
reading  the  significant  paragraph  to  its  close. 

"  '  I  think  this  brute  of  an  Alvarez/  he  interrupted 
me  passionately  (only  using  much  stronger  language 
than  I  care  to  repeat)  '  in  some  way,  got  access  to 
your  car,  ate  the  food  prepared  for  the  poor  girl,  ter 
rified  her  into  silence,  and  perhaps — that  remains  to 
be  investigated — gave  her  some  intimation  of  the 
fate  of  James  Montieth.  How  he  could  have  identi 
fied  her  as  interested  in  Montieth,  unless  by  ill-luck, 
Montieth  may  have  carried  a  portrait  of  her  with 
which  Alvarez  was  familiar — I  can't  for  the  life  of 
me  make  out/ 

"  I  took  my  husband  into  our  confidence,  and  the 
three  of  us  exhausted  ourselves  in  speculation  as  to 
the  truth  of  the  case,  but  without  much  result.  Lov- 
ering  Carr  did  more.  As  soon  as  our  invalid  had 
passed  the  danger  point  in  her  illness,  he  absented 
himself  for  two  or  three  days,  went  back  to  Diaz, 
made  every  possible  enquiry,  visited  Montieth's 
grave,  but  could  get  no  farther  in  the  search  for 
facts.  The  riddle  as  far  as  Mabel  was  concerned 
was  locked  in  the  keeping  of  her  clouded  memory, 
and  unless  she  should  volunteer  to  speak  to  us  of  it, 
no  one  could  hope  to  solve  it. 

"  Slowly,  very  slowly,  the  child  came  back  to  her 


The  Fairy  Godmother's  Story      335 

old  place  in  our  lives  and  interests.  The  spot  I  had 
fallen  upon  for  this  sojourn  was  a  sort  of  sub-tropical 
eyrie  among  the  hills,  with  peaks  above  and  beyond 
us,  glorious  vistas  of  valleys  at  our  feet  and,  im 
mediately  around  the  fonda,  a  plateau  containing  a 
lovely  half-ruined  garden,  full  of  orange  trees,  and 
roses  growing  wild.  To  tell  of  Lovering  Carr's 
work  in  preparing  a  nook  of  this  Southern  paradise 
for  Mabel's  use  when  she  should  be  able  to  make 
her  first  appearance  in  the  open  air,  would  be  a  ro 
mance  in  itself.  All  the  rest  of  our  party  had  long 
since  scattered — gone  on  to  show-places,  joined 
other  travellers,  or  returned  to  the  States.  We, 
with  our  two  servants,  (the  most  handy  helpful 
creatures,)  alone  remained.  My  husband,  whom  I 
had  feared  would  perish  of  boredom  in  this  savage 
wild,  regained  so  much  of  his  youthful  vigour,  slept 
so  well,  and  above  all  digested  so  well,  that  he  never 
made  a  moan.  I  never  even  heard  an  allusion  to  his 
clubs  or  the  missing  daily  newspapers;  and  his 
temper  throughout  fairly  entitled  him  to  a  place 
among  the  seraphim,  hereafter.  I  must  say  that  the 
continual  society  of  a  man  as  clever  and  tactful  as 
Mr.  Carr,  was  an  immense  gain  to  both  of  us;  and 
Carr,  fortunately,  proved  to  be  a  chess-player,  which 
disposed  of  the  wakeful  part  of  my  good  man's  even 
ings. 

"  But,  at  all  odd  moments,  Carr  was  out  devising 
a  sort  of  bower  in  which  the  convalescent  might  sit 
and  look  at  that  wonderful  range  of  mountains  melt- 


336  A  House  Party 

ing  in  mists  or  bathed  in  sunshine.  When  Mabel 
first  stepped  into  this  enchanting  niche  among  the 
orange  flowers  and  jasmines,  and  realised  that  his 
loving  care  had  arranged  it  for  her,  I  saw  her  glance 
up  at  him  with  an  expression  that  filled  my  chap 
eron's  soul  with  satisfaction.  Indeed,  I  don't  mind 
owning  to  you  all  that,  had  it  been  humanly  possible, 
I  could  have  jumped  for  joy." 

"  If  one  dared,"  ventured  a  listener  with  twink 
ling  eyes,  "  one  might  even  fancy  that  during 
Miss  Glynn's  convalescence,  she  had  previously  heard 
a  good  deal  about  Mr.  Lovering  Carr's  perfections, 
from  the  same  admirable  and  self-sacrificing  chap 
eron." 

"A  fair  share,"  smiled  the  narrator.  "Oh!  if 
you  knew  how  rejoiced  I  was  to  feel  that  somewhere 
out  of  the  uncertainty  of  the  future  might  be  coming 
love  and  protection  for  the  poor  stricken  creature — 
for  before  she  was  able  to  rejoin  us  she  had  told  me 
the  full  truth !  She  had  even  scrawled  it  upon  paper 
and,  as  I  told  you,  begged  me  to  communicate  it  to 
my  husband  and  Mr.  Carr,  and  I  had  done  so. 

"  The  only  exaction  made  of  her  in  return  for  her 
confidence,  was  to  pledge  us  never  to  try  to  trace  her 
former  lover  in  his  flight.  She  asked  that,  knowing 
the  facts,  we  should  one  and  all  put  them  and  Mon- 
tieth  like  '  dead  men,  out  of  mind.'  And  from  that 
day  to  this,  so  far  as  I  know,  no  one  of  us  has  ever 
heard  tale  or  tidings  of  James  Montieth,  except  that 
her  loan  of  money  came  back  to  Mabel  in  such  a  way 


The  Fairy  Godmother's  Story      337 

that  she  could  not,  had  she  so  desired,  have  found 
out  its  source. 

"  Little  by  little,  the  light  returned  to  Mabel's  eyes, 
the  pink  into  her  cheeks,  her  little  rosy  mouth  smiled 
oftener ;  and  little  by  little,  during  our  remaining  stay 
upon  our  flowery  mountain  shelf,  Lovering  Carr's 
devotion  won  her  to  gratitude  and  trust,  and  daily 
dependence.  The  sequel  was  inevitable.  When  we 
at  last  got  back  to  New  York,  and  I  returned  Mabel 
to  the  relatives  who  served  as  guardians — unsym 
pathetic  people,  by  the  way,  and  not  up  to  her  level 
of  refinement  and  cultivation — she  did  not  long  re 
main  with  them.  One  day  in  the  autumn,  Lovering 
Carr  came  to  me  and  told  me  he  had  won  the  desire 
of  his  heart.  Mabel  married  him  shortly  afterward ; 
and,  being  of  the  nomadic  class  by  nature,  he  took 
her  to  Sicily  for  the  winter.  After  this,  they  returned 
once  or  twice  to  America,  to  settle  matters  of  busi 
ness,  but  continued  to  live  abroad.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  I  never  saw  her  or  her  husband  during 
their  married  life.  When  they  were  in  this  country, 
I  was  abroad,  and  vice-versa.  I  don't  even  know 
whether  she  was  as  happy  as  she  deserved  to  be  in 
recompense  for  the  sharp  trials  of  her  earlier  youth. 
The  whole  thing  had  become  hazy  in  my  recollections 
until  Mrs.  Goddard  revived  it  here  to-night.  All  I 
can  positively  state  by  way  of  finish  to  my  story,  is 
that  Mrs.  Lovering  Carr  died  not  many  years  after 
in  the  mountains  of  northern  Italy  where,  I  am  told, 
Carr  had  created  for  her  an  idyllic  country  home. 


338  A  House  Party 

He  sent  me  a  newspaper  clipping,  containing  a  no 
tice  of  her  death,  without  comment  of  his  own.  Since 
then,  we  have  heard  vaguely  that  he  is  travelling,  no 
one  seems  to  know  where.  And  that,  my  long  suffer 
ing  hearers,  must  end  my  contribution  to  your  eve 
ning's  entertainment.  It  has  made  me  horribly  sad 
to  rake  up  those  old  recollections,  and  to  think  how 
people  come  into  one's  life  and  go  out  of  it,  leaving 
scarcely  a  trace.  I  know  I  shan't  sleep  forty  winks 
to-night.  How  I  loved  that  girl !  I  wish  that  who 
ever  put  the  log  on  the  fire,  and  brought  the  peon's 
hat  down  on  my  head — now  what  is  there  bad 
enough  for  me  to  wish  him  ?  That  he  may  carry  my 
years  and  the  burden  of  my  memories -?  " 

"  Add,  madam,  your  courage  and  loyalty  and 
humanity,"  said  the  quiet  gentleman,  with  an  old 
fashioned  bow,  "  and  any  one  of  us  would  gladly 
accept  the  penalty." 

******* 

"  It's  ten  o'clock,"  muttered  the  old  gentleman, 
still  wondering  when  the  whiskey  would  come. 

It  was  murmured  below  his  breath,  and  therefore 
was  unintelligible  to  any  one,  but  in  the  moment's 
silence  that  invariably  followed  the  completion  of  a 
tale,  the  slightest  sound  was  enough  to  fix  the  general 
attention  upon  him,  with  fatal  results. 

"  Oh,  General,  I  see  you  have  a  story  ready  to 
tell,"  cried  the  hostess,  "  and  it's  so  good  of  you  to 
be  a  volunteer,  and  not  a  conscript." 

"  Me?  "  protested  the  unfortunate.     "  Hadn't  an 


The  Fairy  Godmother's  Story      339 

idea  of  opening  my  mouth."  Then  to  himself, 
"  Throat's  too  dry  to  talk,  any  way.," 

"  Nonsense.  You  know  you're  rammed  to  the 
tonsils  with  stories  of  the  war,  General,  and  it  will 
be  sheer  ill-nature  if  you  don't  tell  us  one,"  said  one 
of  the  guests. 

"  Yes,  do  be  an  angel !  "  pleaded  Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  It's  such  a  good  preparation — sort  of  understudy 
for  a  future  part,"  remarked  Harold. 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  retorted  the  General.  "  I  tried 
that  once — and — well — " 

"  Tried  what?  "  questioned  some  one. 

"  Being  an  angel." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Why,  the  General's  story  will  explain,  don't  you 
see?  "  remarked  Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  Well,  so  it  shall,  and  I'll  call  it  '  THE  ANGEL 
OF  THE  LORD  '.  It  was  years  ago,  when — well — 
when  I  still  believed  in  angels — who  were,  strangely 
enough,  always  of  a  sex  opposite  to  my  own." 


ANGEL  OF  THE  LORD 


I  had  just  begun  life,  as  a  lawyer,  at  the  small 
capital  of  my  native  southern  State.  My  parental 
home  was  three  counties  distant.  My  father  was 
a  slaveholcling  planter,  whom  I  honoured  and  loved ; 
but  we  could  not  tolerate  each  other's  politics,  and  I 
was  trying  to  exist  on  my  professional  fees.  Al 
ready  I  had  a  wide  business  acquaintance,  but  had 
neglected  social  relations,  being  unwilling  to  deny 
certain  outlandish  political  notions,  and  almost  as 
loath  to  confess  them. 

On  a  summer  holiday,  which  fell,  that  year,  at  the 
end  of  the  week,  two  fellow-boarders  pf  mine,  state- 
house  clerks,  went  away  at  daylight  for  a  clay's  fish 
ing,  leaving  me  out  of  their  plans  so  glaringly  that  I 
smarted.  Because  I  liked  them  so  well,  I  wondered 
if  I  could  not  be  revenged  on  them  in  some  playful 
way  that  should  make  us  better  friends;  but  the 
actual  impulse  to  do  so  came  to  me  only  very 
slowly  and  vaguely  as  I  walked  down  street  after 
breakfast  to  collect  a  fee  from  a  client  who  kept  a 
livery-stable. 

Of  course  if  I  did  anything  it  must  be  something 
that  would  reveal  a  frolicsome  spirit  of  comradeship, 
my  suppression  of  which  hitherto,  and  not  my  equally 
suppressed  politics,  I  believed  to  be  the  secret  of  my 
isolation.  In  college,  where  I  had  intended  to  leave 
all  silly  tricks  behind  me,  my  most  successful  pranks 

340 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  341 

had  been  played  in  female  disguise,  and  even  yet  I 
had  a  lady's  complexion  and  was  as  beardless  as  a 
child.  Moreover  I  had  still  a  trunk  of  woman's 
finery,  which  my  professional  dignity  and  my  lack 
of  any  intimate  acquaintance  had  prevented  me 
from  getting  rid  of,  and  now,  in  revolt  against  this 
dignity  and  isolation,  I  thought  of  that  wardrobe. 
My  two  fellow-bachelors  were  notedly  and  abjectly 
afraid  of  women. 

At  the  stable  I  failed  to  get  any  money ;  the  suit  I 
had  won  for  its  owner  had  been  a  rather  barren  one. 
However,  a  part  of  his  booty  was  an  old  private 
coach  built  for  those  earlier  days  when  carriage 
people  still  made  extended  journeys  in  their  own 
equipages. 

"  I'll  keep  }t  on  sale  for  you  free  of  charge,"  he 
said,  et-cetera. 

"  Which  means,"  I  replied,  "  you  haven't  any  idea 
you  can  sell  it." 

"  I  can  sell  it,  if  any  man  alive  can !  "  he  replied. 

I  smiled  the  smile  of  a  young  lawyer,  and  asked  if 
he  could  lend  me,  for  half  a  day  or  so,  a  good  span 
of  horses. 

He  was  mystified.  "  Why, — yes,  I — I  reckon  I 
can." 

"  Then  hitch  up  the  coach  and  let  me  try  it." 

His  eyes  whitened  with  surprise,  and  he  grew 
almost  incensed.  "  What  the  devil  are  you  going  to 
find  out  by  trying  it?  I — oh,  the  fact  is  I — this  is 
a  holiday,  and  I  can't  spare  any  one  to  drive  it." 


342  A  House  Party 

I  was  glad  he  could  not;  the  man  he  would  spare 
might  know  me,  and  I  wanted  the  services  of  some 
total  stranger  both  to  me  and  the  coach.  I  must 
find  such  a  person,  and  everything  else  seemed  to 
me  easier  than  that.  "  If  I  send  a  driver  for  the 
thing,"  said  I  as  I  moved  away,  "  you'll  furnish  the 
span,  will  you?  " 

Oh,  yes,  he  would  most  cheerfully  do  that!  But 
hardly  had  he  spoken,  when  I  privately  decided  to 
do  without  the  conveyance  entirely.  I  went  back  to 
my  room  and  had  an  hour's  quiet  enjoyment  getting 
myself  up  as  a  lady  dressed  for  travel.  For  a 
woman  I  was  not  suspiciously,  but  only  inspiringly, 
tall.  In  years  I  looked  a  refined  and  comfortable 
forty.  My  hands  were  not  too  big  for  a  high-num 
bered  pair  of  black  lace  mits,  my  waist  was  almost 
slender,  my  bosom  was  a  success,  and  my  feet,  in 
gaiters  of  thin  morocco,  were  well  enough  con 
cealed  to  be  no  man's  business.  A  little  oil  and  a 
burnt  match  darkened  my  eyebrows,  under  a  wee 
bonnet  I  wore  a  chignon,  behind  one  ear  hung  a 
bunch  of  curls,  and  out  of  sight  but  not  inac 
cessible,  at  the  left  of  a  modest  bustle,  snuggled  my 
revolver.  I  managed  my  crinoline  with  feminine 
grace. 

Leaving  a  note  stuck  in  my  bureau  mirror  to  tell 
our  landlady  that  an  unexpected  matter  would  keep 
me  from  the  house  an  indefinite  time,  I  got  out  at 
the  front  gate  unobserved,  and  with  a  sweet  dignity 
that  almost  put  me  in  love  with  myself,  walked  away 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  343 

beneath  a  bewitching  parasol  and  veil,  in  the  direc 
tion  taken  by  the  two  sportsmen. 

I  knew,  pretty  accurately,  where  to  find  them.  A 
few  hundred  paces  put  the  town,  and  some  open 
fields,  at  my  back,  and  a  few  more,  down  a  bushy 
lane  or  two,  brought  me  where  a  dense  wood  over 
hung  both  sides  of  the  narrow  way,  and  the  damp 
air  was  full  of  a  smell  of  pennyroyal  and  creek 
sands.  From  here  I  proposed  to  saunter  down 
through  the  woods  to  the  creek,  locate  my  fisher 
men,  and  draw  them  to  me  by  cries  of  affright  and 
distress.  Between  my  moanings  and  clingings,  my 
story,  told  through  my  veil,  was  to  be  that  while 
on  a  journey  in  my  own  coach,  some  small  part  of 
its  running-gear  having  broken,  I  had  sent  it  on 
to  be  mended,  and,  through  my  dislike  to  a  strange 
town,  had  been  tempted  to  stray  alone  among  the 
trees  and  wild-flowers,  until  my  equipage  should 
return  for  me;  and  that  I  had  trodden  on  a  snake 
and  was  bitten  on  the  ankle.  I  would  describe  a 
harmless  reptile,  but  insist  I  was  poisoned;  yet  with 
wildly  offended  modesty  I  would  refuse  to  show 
the  wound,  or  to  be  carried  back  to  the  road,  or 
to  let  either  man  leave  me  alone  in  the  woods  with 
the  other  while  he  ran  for  medical  aid,  or  to  drink 
their  whiskey  for  a  cure.  On  getting  back  to  the 
road — on  one  foot,  with  the  two  bachelors  for 
crutches — I  would  compel  them  to  leave  me  there 
and  to  go  to  town  in  search  of  my  coach  and  serv 
ants,  trusting  to  my  care  their  tackle  and  fish.  Then 


344  A  House  Party 

I  would  get  myself  and  my  spoils  back  to  our  dwell 
ing  as  best  I  could,  and,  once  there,  adapt  myself 
to  whatever  might  happen.  A  holiday  excuses 
much,  yet  even  if  this  poor  performance  had  come 
off  successfully — but  see  what  occurred  instead. 

Concealed  behind  some  wild  vines,  I  had  shut  my 
parasol  and  tossed  the  suffocating  veil  back  on  my 
bonnet  to  mop  my  face,  when,  some  thirty  yards 
down  the  road  on  the  farther  side,  came  stealthily 
into  view  a  young  negro  and  negress.  They  were 
in  evident  haste  to  cross  unseen.  The  one  in  home 
spun  gown  and  sunbonnet  was  ill  shapen,  with  a 
face  typically  negroidal;  shoeless,  big- footed,  bird- 
heeled,  fan-toed  and  ragged;  and  would  have  been 
offensively  ugly  but  for  a  redeeming  grotesqueness 
made  almost  winsome  by  large  amiable  eyes  and  a 
certain  fantastical  intelligence.  "  She's  a  field- 
hand,"  was  my  thought. 

The  other,  in  hickory  shirt,  trousers  and  shoes, 
seemed  ten  years  the  younger  and  was  shapely  and 
handsome  to  a  degree.  Very  oddly  paired  they 
were.  "  That  boy,"  thought  I,  "  is  a  house-servant, 
house-bred.  They  don't  match;  they're  not  of  a 
feather;  and  yet  I'd  like  to  bet  all  I  can  raise  that 
they're  runaways." 

They  drew  back  among  the  bushes  and  stole  up 
to  a  point  opposite  my  covert,  and  I  saw  they  were 
planning  to  cross  into  it.  Presently,  with  a  childish 
pretense  of  unconcern,  one  scanning  the  road  town- 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  345 

ward,  the  other  the  opposite  way,  they  came,  and 
were  within  five  feet  of  me  before  they  knew  I  was 
near.  I  shall  never  forget  the  horror  that  flashed 
white  and  black  from  the  eyes  in  that  sunbonnet, 
nor  the  gasp  and  snort  with  which  its  owner  crashed 
off  sidewise  a  dozen  steps  into  the  brush  and  as  sud 
denly  stopped,  like  a  frightened  heifer. 

I  spoke  to  the  other,  who  gulped  with  consterna 
tion,  too,  but  stood  still.  "  Good-morning,  boy." 

"  Good-mawnin',  mist'ess,"  was  the  slow  re 
sponse.  Now,  really,  I  abhorred  a  negro.  I  had 
never  seen — I  don't  know  that  I  have  ever  yet  seen 
— a  group  of  them  at  work  or  at  play  that  I  did  not 
groan  for  some  way — some  righteous  way — by 
which  the  land  might  be  purged  of  the  whole  ill- 
gotten  horde.  But  here,  in  my  silly  disguise,  con 
fronted  by  this  unmixed  young  African  of  mellow 
voice,  graceful  diffidence  and  refined  self-regard — 
this  slave  so  manifestly  superior  to  myriads  of  our 
human  swarm,  fair  or  dark,  in  clearness  of  mind 
and  in  purity  of  spirit — my  generalisations  were 
utterly  taken  aback.  The  customary  challenge, 
"  Whose  nigger  are  you?  "  did  not  rise  quite  to  my 
lips;  but  while  I  endured  a  deferential  scrutiny  of 
soft  eyes  from  bonnet  to  mits,  I  gave  my  head  as 
winsome  a  tilt  as  I  could  and  asked  "  What  is  your 
name?" 

"Me?" 

"Yes,  you;  what  is  it?" 

"  I'm  name',  eh — I'm  name'  Euonymus ;  yass  'm." 


346  A  House  Party 

"  Euon' — why,  boy,  where  did  your  mother  get 
that  name  for  you?  " 

"  Why,  dass  a  Bi-ible  na-ame,  ain't  it,  mist'ess?  " 
With  the  question  came  a  look  as  if  my  negative 
would  be  a  cruel  disappointment. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  replied,  and  never  found  out 
whether,  or  not,  Euonymus  meant  Onesimus.  A  few 
yards  off,  the  grotesque  figure  in  the  flaring  sun- 
bonnet  gazed  motionless  through  the  tops  of  the 
bushes.  I  lifted  my  parasol  that  way.  "  Has  she  a 
Bible  name,  too  ?  " 

"  Yass  'm." 

I  nerved  myself  for  the  shock.  "  What  is  her 
name?" 

"  Sarepta." 

"  Hmm !    Howdy,  Sarepta." 

Sarepta  brought  chin  and  shoulder  together  and 
sniggered. 

"  Euonymus,"  I  asked,  "  have  you  seen  two  young 
gentlemen  fishing,  anywhere  hereabouts  ?  " 

The  response  came  with  a  telltale  alacrity. 
"  Yass  'm,  dey  out  'pon  a  white  san'-bah  dess  a 
couple  hundred  yahds  up  de  creek." 

"  He's  wild  to  be  rid  of  me,"  thought  I,  and  ir 
relevantly  noticed  that  the  black  finger  which  eagerly 
pointed  up  the  stream  was  as  clean  as  my  own. 
"  Yes,"  I  thought  again,  "  and  he  and  that  girl 
monkey  yonder  were  dodging  those  two  men,  in 
terror  of  discovery."  With  a  smile  that  simulated 
mere  curiosity  I  looked  my  slim  informant  over 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  347 

once  more  from  foot  to  head.  I  had  never  seen 
slavery  so  flattered,  and  at  the  same  time  so  irrev 
ocably  condemned,  in  the  person  of  the  slave.  All 
at  once  I  said  in  my  heart  "  I'll  help  him  get  away !  " 
Then,  noting  again  the  absurd  Sarepta,  it  came  to 
me  that  to  do  this  with  any  hope  of  success  I  must 
help  both  alike.  "  Euonymus,  did  you  ever  drive  a 
lady's  coach?  " 

"  Me?  no  'm,  I  neveh  driv  no  lady's  coach." 

"Well,  Euonymus,  I'm  travelling;  travelling  in 
my  own  coach." 

44  Yass  'm,"  replied  Euonymus,  and  Sarepta's 
cautious  step  ventured  around  to  the  respondent. 

"  Now,  my  coach  is  at  a  livery-stable  in  town, 
and  I  want  a  driver  and  a  lady's  maid." 

"  Yass  'm,"  said  both. 

"  I  greatly  prefer  free  darkeys  to  slaves,  because 
they  can  come  with  me  as  far  as  they  please,  and 
I  don't  have  to  be  responsible  for  their  return." 

"  Yass  'm,"  said  Euonymus,  and  moved  away 
from  Sarepta's  private  nudge. 

"  Now,  Euonymus,  I  judge  by  your  being  out 
here  doing  nothing  at  this  time  of  day,  that  you 
are  both  free,  you  and  your  sister,  are  you  not?  " 

"  Sa' — Sarepta  an'  me?  Eh,  ye' — yass  'm,  as 
you  may  say,  in  a  manneh — yass  'm." 

"  She  is  your  sister,  is  she  not?  " 

"  Yass  'm,"  put  in  Sarepta,  with  a  happy  grin, 
and  Euonymus  added,  much  more  quietly,  "  Us  full 
sisteh  an'  brotheh — in  a  manneh." 


348  A  House  Party 

"  Couldn't  you  drive  my  coach,  Euonymus?  " 

"  Who,  me,  mist'ess  ?  Why,  eh — o'  co'se  I  kin 

drive  some,  but "  The  soft,  honest  eyes  of 

the  speaker,  wandering  to  Sarepta's,  betrayed  a  con 
flict  of  affections  and  solicitudes  that  made  them 
handsomer  than  ever. 

'  There  are  more  than  two  runaways/'  I  silently 
guessed,  "  and  the  boy's  debating  whether  to  seize 
this  chance  for  Sarepta's  sake  and  leave  the  others 
behind,  or  to  renounce  it." 

"  You  kin  drive  de  coach,"  blurted  the  thick  lips 
of  Sarepta,  "  you  knows  you  kin !  "  But  this  only 
helped  the  other  to  an  opposite  conclusion.  "  No, 
mist'ess,"  said  Euonymus,  "  I  ain't  no  ways  fitt'n' 
fo'  to  drive  a  coach  an'  span  fo'  a  lady  lak  you ;  no, 
'm." 

"  Well,  daddy's  fitt'n' !  "  blurted  the  sunbonnet. 

Euonymus  flinched  and  gave  Sarepta  a  glance  of 
reproachful  caution,  but  the  betrayer  would  not  be 
silenced.  "  Us  kin  go  fetch  him  in  th'ee  shakes !  " 
insisted  Sarepta. 

"  Yass'  'm,"  said  the  warier  diplomatist,  "  us  kin 
go  ax  him." 

I  smiled  kindly  at  the  transparent  stratagem. 
"  No ;  let  Sarepta  go,  and  you  stay  till  she  comes 
back  with  your  daddy." 

The  two  exchanged  gazes.  "  Go,  fetch  him," 
murmured  Euonymus,  "  an'  make  has'e." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  I  interrupted.  "  Euonymus, 
you're  a  pretty  good  boy,  are  you  not  ?  " 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  349 

The  runaway's  head  sank  bashfully.  "  Why, 
mist'ess,  I  cayn't " 

"  You  is  good,"  sputtered  the  other,  "  you  knows 
you  is !  " 

"  What  I  mean,"  said  I,  "  is " 

"  '  Do  you  belong  to  Gideon's  band  ? ' 

You  do,  don't  you?  " 

The  dark  face  grew  radiant.  "  Yass,  mist'ess, 
praise  Gawd,  I  does !  " 

"  Euonymus,  how  many  more  of  you  are  there 
besides  your  daddy  and  mammy?  " 

The  fugitive's  eyes  gave  one  gleam  of  alarm,  and 
then  filled  with  rapt  amazement  at  my  miraculous 
knowledge.  "  Be' — beside' — beside'  d' — daddy  an' 
— an'  m' — mammy?  De  ain't  no  mo',  m' — mist'ess; 
dass  all;  yass  'm." 

"  Just  you  four.  Well,  Euonymus,  when  your 
sister  was  crossing  the  road  I  noticed  some  white 
mud  on  her  ankles." 

"Yass,  'm."  Again  the  gleam  of  alarm;  but 
the  awesome  courage  that  displaced  it  was  fine  to  see. 
Sarepta,  contrariwise,  first  grinned,  and  then  sud 
denly  stared  with  panic. 

"  That  mud  is  marl,"  I  said,  "  and  the  only  marl 
in  the  State  is  forty  miles  south  of  here." 

"  Is  d' — dat  so?  "  asked  Euonymus. 

"  Yes,  and  so  I  judge  that,  like  me,  you,  also,  are 
travellers,  are  you  not?" 

"  Trav' — ye' — yass,  'm,  I — I  reckon  you  mought 
call  us  tr' — travluz — in  a  manneh;  yass,  'm." 


350  A  House  Party 

"  Well,  the  railroad  station  I  am  going  to  next  is 
some  thirty  miles  north  of  here " 

"  Nawth;  yass,  'm,  nawth " 

"  Now,  if  instead  of  hiring  just  Sarepta  and  your 
daddy,  I  should " 

"  Yass,  Jm,"  burst  from  Euonymus,  and  the  eyes 
could  hardly  have  shone  more  exaltedly  had  they 
seen  heaven  open. 

"  Suppose/'  continued  I,  "  I  should  take  all  four 
of  you  along,  without  hire,  just  as  my  servants " 

"  Faw  de  time  bein'  "  slipped  in  the  alert  Euony 
mus. 

"  Certainly,  just  for  the  time  being;  how  would 
that  suit  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mist'ess !  Lawd,  Lawd !  it  suit  us;  dey 
couldn'  be  nothin'  mo'  reprehensible !  " 

I  waved  a  hand,  and  Sarepta  vanished.  Euony 
mus  remained  gazing  into  my  eyes. 

"  What  is  it,  boy?  "  I  laughingly  asked. 

"  May  I  ax  you  a  secret?  " 

Had  a  brotherly  care  for  Sarepta  pierced  my  dis 
guise?  I  wondered.  "Why,  yes,"  I  replied,  "you 
can  ask  it — if  you  promise  not  to  tell." 

"  Oh,  I'll  keep  it !  Is,  eh — is  you  a  sho'  'nough 
'oman?" 

"  No,  Euonymus,  no  more  than " 

"  No  mo'  'n  you  is  a  man !  Oh,  I  knowed  it !  I 
knowed  it!  " — Arms  warily  uplifted,  face  in  ecstasy 
— "  I  s'spicioned  it  fum  de  fust !  " 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  351 

"  Why,  my  good  boy,  what  did  you  '  suspicion  ? ' 
Who  do  you  imagine  I  am?" 

"  Oh,  I  knows,  I  knows !  'T'uz  me  prayed  Gawd 
to  send  you!  Y'aint  man,  an'  y'ain't  'oman;  yo' 
de  same  what  visit  Ab'am,  an'  Moses,  an'  Dan'l,  an' 
Ma'y  de  motheh  o'  de  Lawd !  " 

"  Stop !  Euonymus,  stop !  Never  mind  who  I 
am,  or  what;  I've  got  to  put  you  thirty  miles  from 
here  before  bedtime,  and " 

"  Yass,  my  Lawd." 

"  Euonymus !  you  mustn't  call  me  that ! " 

"  Ain't  dat  what  Ab'am  called  you?  " 

"  I  don't  remember !  But  you'd  best  call  me  mis 
tress;  understand?" 

"Yass,  suh— yass,'m!" 

"  Very  good.  Now,  I  can  either  take  you  alone, 
on  horseback,  which  will  be  far  easier,  safer  and 


surer,  or 

Once  more  a  flash  of  alarm,  and  then  a  new  and 
smiling  exaltation.  "  Oh,  no  mist'ess,  no,  no !  You 
knows  you  on'y  a-temptin'  dy  hammaid !  " 

"  You  wouldn't  leave  daddy  and  mammy?  " 

"  Oh,  daddy  kin  stick  to  mammy,  an'  mammy  to 
him!  but  Sarepta  got  nutheh  gumption  naw  faith, 
an'  let  me  neveh  see  de  salvation  o'  de  Lawd,  ef  I 
can't  see  it  whilse  I  sticks  by  dat — by — by — by 
Sarepta!" 

"Oh,  that  sounds  very  well,  my  boy,  but  sup 
pose  all  five  of  us  are  together,  and  some  fool  should 


35  2  A  House  Party 

mistake  you  four  for — well,  for  runaways,  and  we 
should  be  tracked  and  chased;  can  you  fight — for 
Sarepta?"  , 

"  Yass,  my  1'— yass,  'em ;  I  kin,  an'  I  will !  " 

"Fight  dogs?" 

"  Yass,  'm,  dawgs.  Yass,  like  de  Bi-ible  sa-ay' — 
'  An'  mo'oveh  de  dawgs  come  past  me  roun'  about, 
but  in  de  na-ame  o'  de  Lawd  I  will  Hf  up  my  han' 
an'  will  pe'wail!'" 

"  Have  you  only  your  hands?  " 

"  Dass  all  Da-avid  had,  my — mist'ess, — ag'in'  de 
lion  an'  de  bah,  wa'n't  it?  " 

At  this  point  came  again  Sarepta,  stealthily  con 
ducting  the  parental  pair.  They  were  not  in  hang 
ing  rags,  but  the  father  was  heroically  patched. 
Both  were  attractive,  the  wife  almost  handsome, 
and  the  two  showed  forth  in  their  bearing  a  high 
and  gentle  rectitude.  It  was  droll,  how  wholly  and 
immediately  they  confined  one  to  a  belief  in  them. 
Visibly,  too,  this  sister  and  brother  were,  alike,  their 
children.  One  had  drawn  all  that  was  best  from 
both  parents;  the  other  had  borrowed  and  com 
bined  all  that  was  poorest  from  earlier  ancestors. 
One  was  a  perfect  example  of  upward  development, 
the  other  of  remote  reversion. 

Our  first  conference  was  brief.  The  father  was 
clear-witted  and  deferential.  His  only  pomp  was 
in  the  way  in  which  he  called  me  madam ;  I  almost 
believed  I  was  a  queen.  I  gave  him  a  note  to  the 
stable-keeper. 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  353 

'  You  can  read,  can  you  not  ?  or  your  son  can, 
can't  he?" 

"  Euonymus?  no,  madam,  I  regrets  to  say  d'ain't 
nair  one  of  us  kin  do  dat !  " 

I  hid  my  pleasure.  "  Well,  if,  at  the  stable,  they 
seem  to  have  the  impression  that  this  note  is  from  a 
gentleman,  or  that  the  coach  is  owned  by  a  gentle 
man " 

"  Stay  still,"  put  in  Euonymus,  emotionally,  "  an' 
see  cle  counsel  o'  de  Lawd  overcome !  " 

"  Exactly !  "  said  I,  in  secret  irony,  and  the  mes 
senger  went.  Then  I  penciled  another  note.  It  was 
to  my  landlady,  and  read — "  Please  make  into  a 
bundle,  privately,  and  give  to  this  black  boy,  the 
hat,  boots  and  suit  which  you  will  find  in  the  left- 
hand  side  of  my  armoir;  and,  for  special  reasons, 
please  don't  give  him  any  information  or  ask  him 
any  questions." 

The  mother  stood  beside  me  and  gazed  anxiously 
after  this  second  messenger,  while,  to  my  quiet  dis 
gust,  Sarepta  moved  a  few  steps  away  to  munch 
blackberries.  I  turned  to  the  mother.  "  Did  you 
ever  think  what  you  would  do  if  your  boy  and  your 
girl  were  in  mortal  danger  at  once?" 

"  Why,  yass,  'm,  I  is  study  'bout  dat — at  time' — 
ef  de  trufe  got  to  be  tole." 

I  thought  to  myself  that  if  untruths  should  have 
to  be  told,  Sarepta  and  I  were  the  only  ones  who 
could  be  trusted  to  tell  them.  I  lifted  a  finger  com- 
mandingly.  "  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that,  in 


354  A  House  Party 

any  pinch,  you  will  try  first  and  hardest  to  save  your 


son." 


'  Yass,  'm." 

"  You  promise  me  faithfully  you  will  ?  " 

Her  whole  frame  went  limp,  and  there  came  a 
glimmer  of  childish  duplicity  in  her  uplifted  glance ; 
yet  with  a  firm  voice  she  murmured  again,  "  Yass, 
'm,  I  promise  you  dat." 

I  pretended  to  be  satisfied,  but  I  knew  well  enough 
that  whenever  the  tug  should  come  on  the  mother's 
heartstrings  she  would  instinctively  spring  first  to 
the  succour  of  the  offspring  least  worth  saving.  A 
hum  of  voices  told  us  the  two  anglers  were  drawing 
nearer,  and  the  three  of  us  stepped  into  hiding  and 
watched  them  cross  the  road  and  pass  out  of  sight 
down  the  creek.  Then,  seeing  the  coach  coming, 
with  both  the  father  and  Euonymus  on  the  box,  we 
walked  up  the  road  to  meet  them. 

"  You  got  the  things  ?  "  I  said  to  Euonymus, 
noticing  a  large  paper  parcel  as  the  coach  turned 
round.  And  then  to  the  driver  I  added  "  That's  a 
good  boy  of  yours." 

He  bowed  so  devoutly  that  it  was  plain  the  belief 
of  Euonymus  had  spread.  "  We  thaynks  de  Lawd 
faw  de  boy  an'  gal  alike,"  he  responded,  as,  leaving 
him  and  Euonymus  on  the  box,  I  assigned  the 
mother  and  Sarepta  to  the  seat  before  me  inside  the 
coach. 

"  Still,"  I  persisted,  "  there  would  be  no  harm  in 
an  extra  thanksgiving  now  and  then  for  your  son." 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  355 

Sarepta  smothered  another  sunbonnet  giggle,  and 
when  the  mother  gave  a  stealthy  touch  of  admoni 
tion,  the  priceless  offspring  belched  a  sob  of  laughter 
into  the  cushioned  corner  of  the  vehicle,  and  then, 
as  we  rolled  away,  turned  and  gaped  at  me  with  a 
face  on  which  the  livery-stable  flies  played  tag 
unmolested. 

Thus  we  went  for  a  while,  but  before  long  I  saw 
that  the  whole  four,  having  journeyed  all  night, 
were  heavy  with  sleep;  so  I  had  the  mother  move 
into  the  seat  at  my  side,  got  Euonymus  down  into 
the  coach,  and  made  them  and  Sarepta  take  their 
rest  without  restraint.  The  few  persons  we  met  were 
mostly  horsemen,  to  whom  I  took  pains  to  show 
myself  in  completest  feminine  make-up,  and  some  of 
whom  I  stopped  and  questioned,  as  our  southern 
fashion  is.  And  with  what  toothsome  pop-overs  I 
Fed  their  rustic  curiosity!  I  was  a  widow,  from  a 
hundred  miles  or  more  southward,  who  had  sold 
her  estate,  except  only  these  four  servants,  and 
was  going  to  live  with  a  brother  bereft  of  his 
wife. 

At  the  same  time  the  belief  in  my  heavenly  origin 
md  commission  was  visibly  taken  up  by  the  mother, 
[t  was  so  natural  for  these  simple  hearts  to  accept 
the  supernatural,  that  without  the  least  strain  on 
the  faith  of  any  save  Sarepta,  I  could  in  one  breath 
have  posed  as  a  woman  divorced  for  guilty  cause, 
and  as  one  of  the  men  who  plucked  Lot  out  of 
Sodom.  And  yet  they  could  yield  to  slumber  as  help- 


356  A  House  Party 

lessly,  in  the  face  of  the  miraculous,  as  ever  did  a 
like  number  of  Galilean  disciples. 

When,  at  noon,  at  a  farmhouse,  we  had  eaten  and 
had  fed  our  beasts,  Euonymus  took  the  lines,  and 
the  father  sat  and  slept  inside.  So  for  some  five 
hours  more;  then  the  two  changed  places  again, 
and  my  dark  favourite  and  I  sat  face  to  face,  with 
only  now  and  then  a  word,  but  liking  each  other 
more  and  more  while  we  watched  the  long  white- 
hot  day  fail  at  last  and  pass  by  gorgeous  changes 
into  twilight.  Many  times  I  saw  questions  come 
into  the  young  eyes  that  rested  on  me  so  reverently, 
but  I  gave  them  no  glint  of  encouragement;  I  was 
afraid  to  attempt  the  part  of  a  talkative  angel.  Be 
sides,  my  brain  was  busy;  how,  without  drawing 
suspicion  upon  the  four  fugitives,  to  get  them  once 
more  separated  from  this  equipage  and  from  me, 
while  I  should  vanish  as  a  lady  and  re-appear  as  a 
gentleman — from  nowhere — was  a  harrowing 
puzzle. 

"  Euonymus,"  I  said,  as  we  came  near  a  railroad 
town  of  maybe  fifty  houses,  "  if  I  should  by  and  by 
take  off  these  outside  clothes  and  disguise  myself  as 
a  man,  could  you  put  them  on  and  appear  as  a  lady, 
in  my  place  ?  " 

The  reply  came  slowly.  "  Why,  eh,  yass,  'in;  oh, 
yass,  'm,  I  kin  putt  on  de  clo'es,  but  you  'membeh 
what  de  Good  Book  sa-ay  'bout  de  Ethiopium,  dat 
he  cayn't  shed  his  skin." 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  357 

"  Yes,  but  this  would  be  only  for  an  hour  or  two, 
in  the  dark." 

"  It'd  have  to  be  pow'ful  dahk,"  said  Euonymus, 
with  grave  humility,  and  out  of  Sarepta's  sunbonnet 
came  a  soft  "  unh !  " 

"  Well,"  I  responded,  "  maybe  we  won't  do 
that ;  "  and  in  fact  we  never  did.  I  was  still  the 
lady  as  we  came  into  the  pretty  little  town.  Every 
body  was  at  supper.  Two  or  three  gazers  were  all 
we  met  close  at  hand.  Of  one  I  asked  if  a  young 
gentleman  from  the  capital,  a  Mr.  Southmayd,  had 
come  up  on  the  train  of  half  an  hour  before,  inquir 
ing  for  a  lady  with  this  sort  of  an  outfit. 

"  Wha'  'd  you  say  yo'  own  name  was?  "  he  asked, 
in  turn. 

"  Mrs.  Angell,"  I  replied. 

"  No,  madam,  nobody  stopped  ofFn  that  train, 
at  all." 

"  He  might  come  up  on  the  half-past  eight,"  an 
other  man  suggested. 

"  I  think  not,"  was  my  weary  reply ;  "  he  has 
credited  me  with  too  much  speed,  and  has  gone  on 
to  the  next  station.  Five  miles  more  of  tired  driv 
ing!  "  I  sighed. 

It  was  "  more  like  six,  by  dirt  road,"  I  was  told, 
and  was  modestly  asked  why  I  should  not  send  three 
of  my  servants,  and  the  carriage,  with  a  pass,  keeping 
only  my  maid  (Sarepta),  and  wait  for  a  train. 

"  Ah,  no,"  I  moaned,  "  I  do  not  see  how  any  lady 


358  A  House  Party 

can  allow  herself  to  travel  by  rail  where  she  can 
possibly  go  in  her  own  carriage !  " 

So  they  let  us  pass  on,  but  warned  my  driver 
against  a  few  bad  rods  of  temporary  road  at  a  point 
some  two  miles  away,  where  the  pike  was  being 
mended.  We  reached  it,  and  at  its  far  end — broke 
down. 

"  Pra-aise  Gawd !  "  I  heard  the  mother  murmur 
to  Euonymus,  and  wondered  how  far  they  saw  into 
my  scheme,  into  which  I  could  hardly  see,  myself. 

"  De  king-bolt  gone  clean  in  two ! "  said  the 
father,  as  we  grouped  around  him. 

"  No  matter/'  I  responded,  and  called  him  to  me. 
"  Let  the  coach  stay  where  it  is.  Take  the  lap- 
robes  out  of  it  and  fold  them  on  the  backs  of  the 
horses,  in  place  of  saddles,  one  for  me,  the  other  for 
your  wife.  You  and  Sarepta  and  Euonymus  will 
walk  beside  us;  we  are  going  straight  on." 

Presently  our  march  began.  At  the  end  of  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  we  passed  a  large  plantation  house, 
its  windows  shining  ruddily.  A  second  quarter 
brought  us  to  the  farther  edge  of  a  piece  of  woods, 
where  an  old  private  road  forked  off,  and  here  we 
paused. 

"  Euonymus,  have  you  that  bundle?  Ah,  yes." 
I  turned  to  the  father :  "  Now,  Euonymus  and  I  are 
going  up  this  old  road  a  step  or  two;  I  want  to 
change  my  dress.  If  any  one  comes  along  asking 
questions,  say  we'll  be  back  in  a  moment." 

The    old    man    looked    painfully    disconcerted. 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  359 

"  Yass,  madam ;  but — er,  eh — wouldn'  you  fine  it 
less  amb'assin'  to  yo'se'l  ef  you  took  Sarepta, 
instid?" 

"  No,"  I  said,  riding  off,  "  as  far  as  dress  goes  I 
shall  be  as  much  a  man  as  your  son,  presently,  and 
these  things  that  I  take  off,  Sarepta  and  her  mother 
may  divide  them.  Come,  Euonymus." 

"  Yass,  ma— yass,  suh;  "  said  the  father.  "  But 
in  fac',  ef  de  trufe  got  to  be  tole " 

"  The  truth  hasn't  got  to  be  told.    If  I " 

"  No,  'm,  o'  co'se ;  I  'uz  on'y  gwine  to  say,  'bout 
Euonymus " 

I  hurried  away  in  the  by-road,  but  not  too  swiftly 
to  hear  the  wife  chidingly  say  to  her  good  man 
"  Why  you  don't  hi-ide  all  dem  thing'  in  yo'  haht, 
same  ez  dey  use'  to  do  in  de  Bi-ible  time',  when  de 
a-angel  o'  de  Lawd  'pear  unto  dem?  " 

When  Euonymus  and  I  reached  the  main  road 
again  I  was  in  the  blessed  ease  of  male  attire.  At 
my  word  the  wife  and  mother  slid  down  from  her 
horse  and  handed  me  his  bridle.  "  Now,"  I  said 
to  the  group,  "  I  am  going  back  to  return  these 
beasts  to  their  owner.  We  shall  not  see  each  other 


again 

"  Oh,  Lawd !  Oh,  Lawd !  "  moaned  the  wife,  and 
the  husband  interrupted 

"  You  means  in  dis  vain  worl',  good  mawsteh ; 
dass  all  you  means,  ain't  it?  " 

"Yes.  You  had  better  move  on  for  a  short 
way  in  the  pike  before  you  leave  it.  Good-bye."  I 


360  A  House  Party 

turned  abruptly  and  might  have  escaped  their  dem 
onstrations  had  not  my  led  horse  hung  back  so 
meanly.  All  but  the  self-centred  Sarepta  sprang 
after  me,  pressed  close,  poured  up  their  blessings, 
and,  since  I  could  give  them  neither  hand,  rained 
kisses  on  my  very  garments. 

I  was  turning  into  the  lane  gate  of  the  house  we 
had  just  gone  by,  when  I  met  one  of  the  household, 
a  lad  of  sixteen  or  so,  about  to  enter  from 
the  other  direction.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  he  was  get 
ting  home  from  town  and  had  just  seen  the  disabled 
coach." 

I  told  a  story  of  having  gone,  by  business  appoint 
ment,  with  the  lady  who  had  but  now  abandoned 
that  carriage,  to  the  next  railway  station  northward 
in  order  to  meet  her  there;  said  I  had  come  down 
the  pike  from  there,  on  horseback,  to  see  what  might 
be  delaying  her;  had  met  her  a  few  rods  from  here 
up  the  road,  mounted  without  a  saddle  and  followed 
by  her  servants  on  foot,  so  eager  had  she  been  to 
push  on  to  our  appointment.  Now,  I  concluded,  our 
business,  a  law  matter,  was  transacted,  and  she  had 
gone  on,  on  the  horse  I  had  been  riding ;  I  was  going 
back  with  these  two  animals,  which  she,  or  I  for  her, 
had  hired  in  the  morning. 

The  youth  was  as  gracious  as  could  be.  "  Why, 
certainly,  I  will  see,  myself,  that  the  coach  is  drawn 
up  to  the  house,  first  thing  in  the  morning,  and — 
why,  of  course,  you  can  let  it  stay  as  long  as  you 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  361 

like !  Why  don't  you  stay  all  night,  yourself,  now  ? 
And  why  shouldn't  you  let  me  lope  up  the  pike  and 
bring  the  lady  back  to  do  the  same?  " 

But  I  gave  him  reasons  why  he  should  not  think 
of  such  a  thing,  thanked  him  cordially,  went  on 
back  to  the  little  town,  put  up  at  its  one  "  hotel," 
told  the  same  story  there,  and  was  soon  sleeping  the 
sleep  of  the  truthful. 

I  awoke  with  a  dim  knowledge  that  the  breakfast- 
bell  had  rung  some  time  before,  and  that  some  one 
had  just  knocked  softly  on  my  door.  I  waited  for 
a  second  knock,  and  then 

"  Come  in,"  said  I,  and  in  stepped  my  two  state- 
house  friends!  Their  good-morning  and  apologies 
were  pleasant  enough,  but  I  saw  they  had  not  come 
thirty  miles  for  nothing,  and  that  their  errand  was 
grave.  "  Fact  is,"  said  one  of  them,  "  we're  both 
ered  about  that  client  of  yours;  that  lady." 

I  pretended  to  be  amused.  "  'Pon  my  word !  Not 
Mrs.  Angell?" 

"Yes;  it  looks  as  if " 

"  Stop,  let  me  get  up,  we  can  talk  as  I  dress. 
'Looks  as  if '—what?" 

"  Why,  as  if  either  she's  not  what  you  think  she 
is,  or  else " 

"  Pardon  the  interruption  " — I  smiled  aggres 
sively — "  I  don't  think  what  she  is,  I  know.  Go  on, 
please ;  '  or  else  ' — you  say " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  reckon  I  won't  go  on,  you  go  on  dress 
ing.  Are  you  sure  those  darkeys  are  hers  ?  " 


362  A  House  Party 

"  Why,  really,  I — I  never  had  the  brass — did  you 
say  her  darkeys,  or  her  teeth?  Why  should  you 
want  to  know?  " 

"  Show  him  that  thing,'"  said  the  one,  and  the 
other  handed  me  a  newspaper  advertisement: 

Two  hundred  dollars  reward.     Ran  away  on 
the  fifth  day  of  last  June,  from  the  plantation  of 

the  undersigned,  in County,  of  this  State, 

the  following  slaves: 

It  gave  the  names  and  descriptions  of  four 
negroes  stated  to  be  father,  mother,  daughter  and 
son.  A  reward  of  fifty  dollars,  it  concluded,  would 
be  paid  "  to  any  person  for  the  capture  and  im 
prisonment  in  any  jail,  of  each  or  either  of  the 
above  described." 

I  returned  it  with  a  satirical  laugh  and  went  on 
dressing.  "  Oh,"  said  one  of  my  friends,  "  we 
know  that  doesn't  describe  those  four  darkeys  with 
the  coach." 

"  Naturally !  "  I  retorted,  "  when  they're  not  the 
darkeys  meant  to  be  described.  Why,  gentlemen," 
— I  faced  around  to  them  from  the  mirror  as  though 
my  good-nature  had  suddenly  given  out,  "  if  this 
isn't  the  most  astounding " 

"  Ho-old  on,  now,  ho-old  on !  Make  haste  and 
finish  your  dressing;  the  description  does  fit  two  of 
the  four;  and  so  we  rode  on  this  morning  as  soon 
as  it  was  light,  to  find  your  lady  wherever  she 
stopped  last  night,  and  see  for  ourselves." 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  363 

"  Hmm !  "  I  remarked,  with  a  venomous  titter, 
"followed  an  unprotected  lady?" 

"  We  followed  four  runaway  niggers,  sir !  Those 
scamps  took  to  the  woods  before  they'd  gone  a  mile 
from  that  house  where  she  left  her  carriage!  Are 
you  ready?  Come  on,  we've  already  wasted  too 
much  time." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  I  said,  moving  for  my  pistol 
and  belt  and  wasting  all  the  time  I  could.  "  Now, 
gentlemen,  of  course  we're  going  to  follow  this 
affair  out  to  the  end ;  but  it  has  got  to  be  done " 

"  Oh,  as  quietly  and  privately  as  possible !  "  they 
rejoined. 

"  Yes,"  I  silently  thought,  "  you  want  the  reward, 
and  you  want  it  all."  I  spoke  aloud — "  But,  gentle 
men,  besides  that,  it's  got  to  be  understood  that  I 
know  you're  in  error,  and  am  going  with  you  to  help 
you  prove  that  fact.  Now,  by  your  theory " 

"  Oh,  theory !  " — they  cursed  theory  and  started 
away.  I  went  with  them,  and  killed  as  many  min 
utes  as  I  dared  in  securing  a  saddle  and  getting  it 
put  upon  one  of  my  hired  horses.  "  You  must  ex 
cuse  us,  Southmayd,  if  we're  not  parlour  polite," 
they  generously  apologised  after  another  flash  of 
impatience ;  "  for  though  of  course  those  niggers 
are  not  on  the  go  now,  in  broad  day,  yet  all  this 
time  their  trail  of  last  night  is  getting  cold."  As  we 
ambled  away — "  You  were  going  to  ask  us  some 
thing,"  said  one,  "  about  our  theory." 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  need  to,  now.    I  see  you  think 


364  A  House  Party 

Mrs.  Angell  must  have  fallen  in  with  agreeable 
company  and  ridden  ahead  with  them,  leaving  the 
servants  to  follow  on  without  her.1' 

"  Exactly.  We  couldn't  pick  out  her  horse's 
tracks  from  lots  of  others,  but  we  saw  no  horse  had 
left  the  road  at  any  point  where  the  darkeys'  tracks 
left  it." 

"  Come,"  said  the  other,  pricking  on,  "  Harby 
will  be  there  before  us." 

Now,  as  far  back  as  the  town  where  we  lived  I 
had  heard  the  fame  of  Harby.  I  reined  in  savagely. 
"Gentlemen,  I  swear  this  is  too  highhanded!  Do 
you  reckon  I  am  going  to  let  you  run  down  those 
four  innocent  creatures  with  hounds  ?  You  shall  not 
do  it,  sirs,  I  swear  you  shall  not !  " 

"  Why,  the  hell  you  say !  "  laughed  one,  and — 
"  See  here,"  said  the  other,  "  come  on ;  we'll  show 
you  where  those  darkeys  left  the  road  one  by  one, 
and  if  you  don't  admit  that  they've  counted  on  being 
followed  and  have  used  every  trick  known  to  a  run 
away  nigger  to  throw  us  off,  we'll  never  take  the 
dogs  out  of  leash;  we'll  just  quit  and  go  home. 
Does  that  suit  you?  " 

"  No,  it  does  not !  " 

"  Well,  anyhow,  come  along;  we  pledge  you  fair 
play." 

We  passed  the  scene  of  the  breakdown  and  then 
the  house  to  which  I  had  asked  that  the  coach  might 
be  drawn.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  vehicle,  in  a 
stable  door  beyond  the  dwelling.  Then  a  bend  in 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  365 

the  pike  brought  to  view  a  tall,  slight  man  just  de 
scending  from  his  horse  among  four  black-and- 
brown  bloodhounds  coupled  two-and-two  by  slim, 
pendent,  iron  breast-yokes.  With  a  formidable  whip 
and  not  the  slightest  frown  he  lashed  one  of  them 
a  quick  cut  over  the  wincing  face,  as  the  brute  ven 
tured  to  lift  a  voice  as  hollow  and  melodious  as  a 
bell. 

"  He's  a  puppy  I'm  breaking  in,"  said  he.  "  Now, 
here,  you  see," — he  pointed  to  the  middle  of  the 
road — "  here's  where  your  friend  met  up  with  the 
lady  and  her  niggers  and  given  her  his  hoss  and 
taken  her  two." 

"  This  is  the  gentleman,"  said  my  companions. 

The  man  barely  gave  me  a  glance.  "  Here,"  he 
resumed,  "  is  the  tracks  of  the  two  hosses  goin' 
back.  '  Tother  critter's  tracks — the  lone  hoss — I 
don't  make  out,  but  here's  the  tracks  of  the  niggers, 
along  here  close  to  the  bushes."  He  remounted. 

"  Yes,"  said  one  of  my  friends,  "  we  know  that. 
And  yonder,  up  in  that  lock  of  the  woods  fence,  by 
that  tall  stump  covered  with  cross-vine,  is  where  the 
first  one  went  into  the  brush." 

We  trotted  forward.  The  pike  here  lay  between 
two  high  worm-fences.  Beyond  the  one  on  the 
right  was  a  cornfield;  beyond  the  other  a  damp 
forest,  whose  margin  was  filled  with  a  stubborn 
tangle  of  cane  and  briers.  "  Mind  you "  I  be 
gan,  but  one  of  my  companions  shut  me  off: 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Harby,"  he  called,  "  we  must  know, 


366  A  House  Party 

dead  sure,  that  they're  runaways,  before  we  put  the 
dogs  on." 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  responded  without  turning  his 
face,  "  we'll  put  on  Charmer  and  Dandy,  and  they'll 
tell  us  whether  we're  chasin'  runaways  or  not,  befo' 
we've  gone  three  hundred  yards.  If  we  ain't,  I  can 
call'  em  off  so  quick  it'll  turn  'em  a  somerset."  He 
dismounted,  and  while  removing  the  breast-yoke 
from  the  two  older  hounds  spoke  to  them,  with  the 
fondling  softness  of  a  nurse,  a  few  low  words  of 
gusto  and  incitement  that  put  them  into  a  dumb 
ecstasy. 

"  There's  where  one  darkey  went  over,"  said  the 

young  man  nearest  me,  pressing  his  horse  up  to 

mine  and  pointing  among  the   fence-side   weeds; 

"Now  watch  the  dogs!     See  how  quickly  they'll 

.  get  on  to  the  trail." 

As  the  pair  sprang  from  their  master's  hands, 
one  began  to  nose  the  air,  the  other  the  earth,  to 
left,  to  right,  and  to  cross  each  other's  way  in  short, 
swift  circuits.  With  a  face  utterly  impassive,  while 
assuming  a  voice  of  wildest  eagerness,  their  master 
cried  to  them  in  a  confiding  stage-whisper  "  Niggah 
thah,  Dandy! — Niggah  thah,  Charmer;  take  him, 
girl,  ah,  take  him,  my  lady !  " 

Skimming  the  ground  with  hungry  noses,  the 
brutes  responded  to  each  cry  with  a  single  keen  yap 
of  preoccupied  affirmation.  Quickly  Charmer  found 
the  spot  which  had  just  been  pointed  out  to  me, 
reared  against  the  rails,  and  let  out  a  new  note,  long, 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  367 

musical,  half  tantalised,  half  overjoyed.  Her 
master  mounted  the  fence  breast  high,  lifted  the 
willing  creature  by  the  collar,  and  dropped  her  on 
the  other  side.  There  she  instantly  resumed  her 
search ;  but  just  then  her  yokemate's  deep  bay  trum 
peted  a  few  yards  up  the  roadside.  He  had  struck 
the  broad,  frank  trail  of  the  other  three  negroes. 
But  the  master  lifted  an  ox-horn  and  blew  a  short, 
sharp  recall,  and  at  once  the  brute  turned  back  and 
began  his  work  again  about  our  horses'  feet. 

The  owner  of  the  dogs  remained  on  the  fence, 
watching  his  favourite  on  the  farther  side.  By  the 
agitation  of  the  low  growth,  now  here,  now  there, 
we  could  see  how  busy  she  was,  and  every  now  and 
then  she  sent  us,  as  if  begging  our  patience,  her 
eager,  promissory  yelp.  Suddenly  her  master  had 
a  new  thought.  He  stepped  down  to  the  right, 
passed  the  nearest  lock  of  the  fence,  scrutinised  the 
top  rail,  moved  on  by  the  next  lock,  examined  the 
top  rail  as  carefully  again,  then  the  next,  the  next, 
and  at  the  seventh  or  eighth  faced  back  to  us  and 
grimly  said,  "  Come  here." 

We  came.  "  See  here?  If  any  man  doubts  that's 
a  runaway  nigger,  look  here  where  he  jumped." 

"  All  I  see,"  said  I,  "  is  that  something's  broken 
a  splinter  off  that  rail." 

"  What  do  you  reckon  done  it,"  he  asked,  "  a 
bird,  or  a  fish?  Look  yondeh  whah  he  landed  in 
the  briers  and  lit  out."  The  merest  fraction  of  a 
note  from  his  horn  brought  the  dogs,  and  before 


368  A  House  Party 

he  could  help  Dandy  over  the  fence  Charmer  had 
started  down  the  trail.  She  threw  her  head  high 
into  the  air  and  for  the  first  time  filled  the  resound 
ing  timber  with  the  bell-like  music  of  her  bay. 

The  master's  incitements  were  no  longer  in 
whispers.  "  Dandy,  Dandy !  "  he  cried,  with  wild 
animation  of  voice  from  an  emotionless  face; 
"  niggah-felleh  thah,  Dandy !  Ah,  Dandy,  look  him 
out!" 

The  music  swelled  from  Dandy's  throat,  and 
away  went  the  pair.  The  young  dog  of  the  other 
yoke  answered,  the  whip  of  cool  discipline  cut  him 
silent,  and  he  and  his  mate  trembled  and  moaned 
under  the  torment  of  their  inaction.  My  two  friends 
had  thrown  off  three  or  four  rails  from  a  panel  of 
the  fence  and,  with  Harby,  were  about  to  take  their 
horses  through,  when  the  young  brute  just  lashed, 
tugging  his  yokemate  sidewise,  let  go  a  cry  of  dis 
covery  and  began  to  dig  furiously  under  a  bottom 
rail.  His  master  threw  him  aside  and  drew  from 
under  the  rail  "  Mrs.  Angell's  "  beflowered  bonnet. 

"  Good  God !  "  exclaimed  the  other  two  men  as 
he  held  it  up,  and  with  a  flush  of  rage  one  of  them 
added  "  Southmayd,  they've  murdered  her !  " 

"  Nonsense !  "  I  cried,  "  she's  probably  made  it  a 
present  to  one  of  them,  and  they've  been  afraid  it 
would  get  them  into  trouble !  "  But  the  three  horse 
men  had  whirled  away,  and  I  could  but  follow.  The 
baying  had  ceased,  and  an  occasional  short,  half- 
smothered  cry  told  that  the  scent  of  the  bloodhounds 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  369 

was  for  a  moment  baffled  again;  but  as  I  came  up, 
the  brutes  recovered  the  trail  and  sped  on,  once 
more  breaking  the  still  sunrise  air,  far  and  wide, 
into  deep  waves  of  splendid  sound.  Close  after  them 
silently  scuttled  the  yoked  pair,  dragging  each  other 
this  way  and  that,  their  broad  ears  almost  sweeping 
the  ground,  while  the  man  Harby,  with  sociable 
ease,  told  their  pedigree  as  we  rode  just  behind. 

Presently  we  issued  at  the  edge  of  wide  fields 
about  a  plantation-house  and  its  slave-quarters,  and 
I  hoped  to  find  the  trail  broken  once  more ;  but  with 
out  a  pause  the  chase  turned  along  the  line  of  fence 
and  proceeded  to  encircle  the  plantation,  Harby  ex 
plaining  in  clean-cut,  nervy  words,  that  our  human 
quarry  knew  better  than  to  cross  a  field  at  dead  of 
night  and  set  house-dogs  a-barking. 

From  the  plantation's  farther  bound  we  ran  down 
a  long  gradual  slope  of  lovely  open  woods,  and  at 
the  bottom  came  upon  a  clear  pebbly  branch  rippling 
between  loamy  perpendicular  banks  shrouded  with 
strong  vines.  Here  the  scent  had  failed,  and  it  was 
fine  to  see  the  docile  faith  and  comprehension  with 
which  the  panting  dogs  resigned  the  whole  work,  for 
the  time,  into  their  master's  hands  and  followed 
beside  him  while  he  sought  a  crossing-place  for  his 
horse.  To  find  this  took  a  lapse  of  time  that  fretted 
my  two  friends;  but  by  and  by  he  scrambled  over, 
bidding  us  wait  where  we  were  until  the  dogs  should 
open  again. 

As  he  started  downstream  along  the  farther  bank, 


370  A  House  Party 

Charmer  and  Dandy,  at  a  single  word,  ran  circling 
out  before  him,  electrified  by  his  cold-eyed  implor- 
ings.  But  now,  to  my  joy,  he  found  their  most 
avid  snufflings  as  futile  as  his  own  scrutinies  and 
divinations,  and  after  following  the  stream  until 
my  companions  grumbled  openly,  he  dropped  a  note 
from  his  horn,  rode  back  with  the  four  dogs,  re- 
crossed  the  rivulet,  and  passed  again  down  it  on 
our  side,  with  the  dogs  at  his  heels,  and  a  frown 
on  his  brow,  scanning  keenly  the  tangle  of  the 
opposite  bank. 

And  now  again  he  came  back  baffled.  '  You  see, 
the  branch  runs  so  nigh  the  way  they  wanted  to  go, 
there's  no  tellin'  how  fur  they  taken  the  bed  of  it. 
They  shore  to  have  stucken  to  it  till  they  all  met 
together  again.  How  fur  that  may  be  hell  knows, 
the  pike  bends  so  to  the  east.  Come  on." 

We  plunged  across  after  him  and  followed  down 
the  farther  bank,  and  at  the  point  where  he  had 
turned  back  he  once  more  put  on  the  two  older 
hounds.  "  Must  'a'  been  at  least  two  niggers  went 
down  this  branch  together,"  he  began  again,  as  it 
led  us  out  into  an  old  field.  "  At  first  this  trail 
wa'n't  much  better  'n  a  fool's  trail,  now  it's  as  smart 
a  one  as  ever  I  struck— look  him  out,  Dandy!— 
Every  time  they  come  to  a  swimmin'-hole  they 
didn't  come  up  on  the  bank  and  walk  round  it,  they 
swum  it— ah,  Charmer!  yes,  my  xiveet  lady!  take 

him!  look  him  out! This  sun's  powerful  hot  for 

you  indoor  men." 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  371 

All  at  once  Charmer's  baffled  note  changed  to  a 
glad  peal,  her  mate's  changed  with  it,  and  with  the 
stream  at  their  back  and  at  ours,  they  were  off  and 
away  in  full  cry.  The  trail  was  broad  and  strong 
now,  and  several  times  the  dogs  made  us  gallop. 
But  now  again  they  led  us  down  into  a  thickety 
wet  tract  where  a  sluggish  runlet,  meandering 
widely,  forced  our  hunter,  after  long  hindrance,  to 
leave  the  trail  and  seek  and  find  it  again  on  the  rising 
ground  beyond.  Here  we  burst  up  into  the  cleared 
grove  of  a  small,  unpainted  church,  and  I  suddenly 
remembered  it  was  the  Sabbath.  There  was  a 
saddle-horse  tied  to  every  swinging  limb,  and  be 
fore  the  house's  front  a  gang  of  big  boys  sprang 
up  from  their  whittling  to  be  our  gleeful  specta 
tors. 

The  master  of  the  dogs  waved  them  off,  as  he  had 
done  all  earlier  on-lookers,  with  the  word  that  we 
wanted  neither  help  nor  company,  and  though  the 
trail,  here  much  confused,  took  us  closely  around 
the  sides  of  the  building,  we  passed  and  were  gone 
before  the  worshippers  inside  could  more  than  finish 
the  first  stanza  of  a  hymn.  To  hold  his  people  on 
their  benches  the  parson  had  started  the  first  one  he 
could  think  of,  and  as  we  swept  under  his  open 
windows  we  could  see,  as  well  as  hear,  him,  un 
luckily  bawling,  with  twice  the  throat  of  all  the  rest, 
one  of  the  most  familiar  hymns  in  the  South, 

"  '  The  track  I  see,  and  I'll  pursue 
The  narrow  way  till  Him  I  view.'  " 


372  A  House  Party 

All  day  we  made  no  pause  to  eat  or  feed.  "  If 
we  don't  catch  'em  befo'  night,  and  they  begin  to 
go  again,"  said  Harby,  "  we  shan't  catch  'em  befo' 
this  time  to-morrow,"  and  we  were  then  in  the 
afternoon.  About  the  middle  of  it  one  of  the  state- 
house  men,  who  had  been  conferring  privately  with 
the  other,  turned  back  with  a  sudden  "  good-bye," 
and  left  us.  The  other  explained  that  official  duties 
compelled  him  to  be  at  his  desk  early  the  next  day. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said,  "  /  can  keep  on  till  we 
finish." 

Happily  for  my  longings  he  was  mistaken.  Two 
hours  were  hardly  gone,  when,  as  I  was  on  the  very 
point  of  telling  him  his  horse  was  sick,  he  threw 
himself  from  the  saddle  in  a  small  farm-road  we 
happened  to  be  crossing,  and  began  wildly  to  un- 
girth,  pouring  out  curses  until  the  wood  echoed 
with  them.  Harby  rode  straight  on  out  of  sight;  I 
pulled  up.. 

"  You'll  have  to  lead  him  to  the  first  house  and 
get  another  mount,"  I  said. 

"  Another  what !  "  he  blazed  at  me.  "  I  wouldn't 
leave  this  horse  sick  in  strange  hands  for  five  hun 
dred  dollars !  "  Suddenly  his  eyes  took  on  an  im 
ploring  humility  that  filled  me  with  pity  and  an 
unaccountable  impulse  to  laugh.  "  Look  here, 
Southmayd,"  he  cried,  "  I'll  give  you  fifty  dollars, 
cash  down,  if  you'll  just  stay  with  me  till  I  get  him 
out  of  here !  " 

I    faced  back   as   I   trotted   away   after   Harby, 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  373 

shaking  my  head  and  trying  not  to  smile.  "  A  thou 
sand  dollars  wouldn't  hire  me !  "  I  cried,  and  passed 
from  his  view.  But  until  I  was  beyond  earshot 
I  could  hear  him  damning  me  in  shouts,  as  a  mis 
creant  and  a  sneak,  who  ought  to  have  had  a  coat 
of  tar-and- feathers  long  ago,  and  would  get  it  yet; 
and  I  was  halfway  of  the  same  belief,  until  I  over 
hauled  the  negro-chaser  cheering  on  his  dogs. 

Their  wary  prey  had  again  played  them  a  trick, 
and  once  more  the  cry  was  "  Take  him,  Dandy!" 
and  "  Hi !  Charmer,  my  lady,  look  him  out !  " 

Between  shouts  he  asked  me  how  my  horse  was 
bearing  the  strain ;  and  when  I  said  he  would  have 
to  bear  it  or  perish,  he  sealed  his  approval  with  a 
majestic  oath.  "  So  you  believe  they're  runaways, 
after  all,  do  you  ?  "  he  said.  I  confessed  I  did,  and 
on  we  pressed. 

In  time  we  found  ourselves  in  a  forest  of  great 
pines.  The  level  beams  of  the  low  sun  gilded  the 
high  green  grass  that  stretched  away  on  every  side 
over  the  billowy,  colonnaded  ground.  The  very 
negro-chaser,  with  a  wave  of  the  arm,  bade  me 
mark  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  But  the  dogs  were 
going  more  swiftly  than  ever,  baying  like  fire-bells, 
and  we  had  to  gallop.  "  We've  got  the  four  devils 
on  the  run,"  he  quietly  called  back  to  me;  "  they're 
up  and  going;  but  if  we  don't  tree  'em  befo'  they 
make  the  river,  we'll  lose'  em,  yet." 

The  land  began  to  sink,  and  soon  we  were  in 


374  A  House  Party 

thick  underbrush  once  more.  Presently  we  came 
squarely  upon  a  high  worm  fence,  where  the  air 
was  fragrant  with  tall  corn,  which  the  fugitives  had 
plunged  straight  through.  Charmer  and  Dandy 
had  climbed  over  into  the  field  and  out  again  on  the 
farther  side,  and  were  waking  every  echo  in  the 
deepening  swamp  beyond,  while  the  yoked  pair 
stood  under  the  fence,  yelping  for  their  master's  aid. 
He  sprang  down  and  unyoked  them,  and  over  the 
fence  they  scrambled  and  were  gone. 

But  the  fence  was  staked  and  ridered,  and  for  us 
it  was  easiest  to  struggle  round  it;  which  we  had 
hardly  done,  when  with  sudden  angry  curses  Harby 
spurred  forward  upon  better  ground.  The  two 
younger  dogs  had  broken  away  from  the  wiser  pair 
and  were  off  on  a  chase  of  their  own.  At  the  river 
bank  the  four  negroes  had  divided  by  twos  and 
gone  different  ways,  and  the  rear  dogs  had  rushed 
down  the  stream  in  full  cry,  while  up  it  bayed 
Charmer  and  Dandy.  When  we,  in  turn,  came  to 
the  river,  we  burst  out  upon  a  broad,  gentle  bend  up 
and  down  which  we  could  see  both  heavily  wooded 
banks  for  a  furlong  either  way.  The  last  beams 
of  the  sun  shone  up  its  course.  In  that  direction  we 
observed  only  the  clear  waters  crinkling  in  a  wide, 
sweeping  shallow  over  a  yellow  gravel-bar;  but 
as  we  glanced  the  other  way  we  discovered  two  of 
the  runaways,  the  married  pair. 

They  were  more  than  half  way  over,  yet  waist 
deep  in  the  main  current,  heaving  forward  with  up- 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  375 

lifted  arms,  and  silhouetted  against  the  sinking  sun. 
On  that  moment,  at  twice  their  speed,  two  small 
dark  objects  moved  out  in  their  direction  from  the 
shore  they  had  left,  each  spreading  wide  in  its  wake 
two  long  golden  ripples.  They  were  the  pair  of 
younger  dogs.  The  unruly  "  puppy  "  was  leading. 
His  swearing  master  threw  the  horn  to  his  lips  and 
blew  an  imperious  note.  The  rear  dog  turned  his 
head  and  faltered  in  his  course,  but  then  followed 
on  in  the  chase,  from  which  the  other  had  not 
wavered.  Again  the  angry  horn  reechoed  from 
shore  to  shore,  and  the  slower  dog  turned  back;  but 
the  other  swam  straight  on.  The  two  slaves  glanced 
behind  them,  and  the  wife's  outcry  of  despair,  and 
her  terrified  new  haste,  were  pitiful  to  see  and  hear : 
but  her  husband  turned  about  and,  backing  after  her 
through  the  deep  flood,  prepared  to  meet  the  onset 
with  naked  hands.  Harby  sprang  to  his  tiptoes  in 
the  stirrups,  and  his  curses  pealed  across  the  waters. 
"  If  you  hurt  that  dog  I'll  shoot  you  dead!  " 

He  had  whipped  out  his  revolver,  but  a  cry  from 
me  diverted  him.  "  Look  up  yonder !  " 

Much  farther  from  us  than  these,  the  other  two 
runaways  were  out  on  the  gravel-bar.  Sarepta  was 
the  more  conspicuous,  splashing  frantically  across 
the  wide  shoal,  tearing  and  kicking  off  sunbonnet, 
skirt,  waist,  petticoat,  and  howling  with  the  horrified 
self-concern  of  constitutional  cowardice.  '  Thank 
Heaven,"  thought  I,  "  at  any  rate  she's  a  swimmer, 
and  will  not  drown  her  brother !  "  For  certainly 


376  A  House  Party 

only  a  swimmer  ever  cast  off  garments  quite  in  that 
way. 

Euonymus,  too,  was  bareheaded,  and  swift  of 
flight,  but  wholly  without  frenzy,  agile,  silent,  and 
purposely  behind  Sarepta.  Neither  could  see  any 
thing  in  our  direction  but  the  dazzling  splendour  of 
the  sunset.  And  now  Charmer  and  Dandy  for  a 
moment  outwitted  and  delayed,  bayed  joyously  once 
more  and  sprang  into  view,  and  Euonymus  began  to 
back  away,  facing  the  brutes.  So  nearly  together  in 
time  were  the  two  actions,  downstream  and  up,  that 
the  brief  echoes  of  Harby's  horn  had  hardly  died 
when  with  another  fierce  cry  he  sounded  the  note 
meant  to  recall  all  the  four  dogs. 

Charmer  and  Dandy  turned  at  once;  but  at  the 
same  moment  the  young  dog  below  us  launched 
himself  at  his  adversary's  throat,  where  the  slave 
stood  breast  deep  in  the  glassing  current.  The  wife, 
who  had  reached  shoaler  water,  turned  and  in  self- 
oblivion  stood  still  with  wet  arms  uplifted  and  a 
wail  on  her  lips.  Her  husband  caught  the  dog's 
throat  in  both  his  hands  and  went  under  the  flood 
with  him. 

Harby's  oaths  pealed.  "  You  murderin'  black 
fiend  o'  hell !  I'll  match  you !  "  he  screamed,  and 
before  I  could  lift  a  hand  or  a  cry  he  had  fired 
squarely  at  the  woman.  She  seemed  scarcely 
within  the  pistol's  range,  and  he  took  the  time  of  one 
quick  breath  to  see  if  he  had  struck  her ;  yet  his  last 
word  was  hardly  out  of  his  teeth,  when  his  weapon 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  377 

flew  up  for  a  second  shot.  Then  at  last  my  tardy 
hand  reached  him,  and  by  good  luck  I  knocked  the 
revolver  from  his  fingers.  I  took  note  of  four  things 
at  once :  the  wife  clapping  a  hand  to  her  arm,  where 
the  first  shot  had  struck  her;  her  husband  and  the 
hound  coming  to  the  surface  apart  from  each  other ; 
the  lost  weapon  tumbling  over  and  over  as  it  curved 
out  from  the  high  bank  and  vanished  in  the  river; 
and  Harby's  face,  a  thundercloud,  that  gulped  his 
speechless  wrath. 

"  Call  your  dog  again,"  was  all  I  could  think  to 
cry,  "  you  can  save  him  yet !  "  The  brute  had  re 
newed  his  deep-water  chase,  and  his  prey  again 
waited  to  grapple  him. 

More  commandingly,  more  appealingly  than  ever, 
Harby  winded  his  horn;  the  dividing  ripples  in  the 
brave  creature's  wake  began  to  curve,  his  muzzle 
came  round,  and  he  swam  toward  us.  At  the  same 
time  the  others  came  about  their  master,  while  at  the 
farther  shore  man  and  wife  gave  each  other  a  sup 
porting  arm,  scrambled  up  through  the  waterside 
bushes,  and  disappeared.  Sarepta,  too,  had  gained 
the  bank ;  only  Euonymus  was  to  be  seen,  at  the  far 
edge  of  the  gravel-bar.  I  was  so  inebriated  with 
good  fortune  that  I  burst  into  a  laugh,  while  ex 
claiming,  with  gestures  of  apology,  "  It  shall  be  all 
right !  I'll  pay  for  the  revolver !  " 

"  You'll  pay  with  your  life !  "  yelled  Harby.  "  If 
they  don't  hang  you  without  a  trial,  I'll  kill  you,  as 
sure  as  the  devil's  in  hell! — Charmer! — Dandy! — 


378  A  House  Party 

go!  take  the  niggah!  ah,  take  him,  my  lady! "  We 
had  both  discovered  that  Euonymus  feared  to  swim. 

There  stood  the  victim,  alone,  defenceless,  cut  off 
from  flight  by  deep  water,  and  here  darted  away  the 
four  dogs.  Not  an  instant  was  there  for  second 
thought;  I  drew  and  fired,  and  one  of  the  hounds, 
the  mate  of  the  refractory  puppy,  gave  a  yelp,  and 
rolled  over,  dead. 

"  Call  them  back ! "  I  yelled,  brandishing  my 
weapon  in  Harby's  face  as  our  horses  bore  us  side  by 
side  after  the  other  three  dogs ;  but  he  only  shrieked 
foul  epithets  upon  me  and  cried,  while  the  woods 
rang  with  the  baying  of  the  hounds,  "  Take  the 
niggah,  Charmer,  take  him!" 

I  swerved  out  of  his  reach  and  fired  again.  Poor 
Dandy !  he  sprang  sharply  from  his  course,  howling 
in  agony,  and  began  to  trot  in  a  circle,  with  melting 
eyes  fixed  upon  his  master. 

"  Oh,  God !  "  cried  Harby,  leaping  down  beside 
the  wailing  dog,  that  pushed  its  head  into  his  bosom 
like  a  sick  child ;  "  oh,  God !  but  you  shall  die  for 
this!" 

I  felt  he  was  more  than  half  justified,  but  so  was 
I,  and  as  I  looked  back  I  cried  once  more,  "  Call  them 
off !  call  them  off,  or  I'll  shoot  them  all !  " 

Harby  was  on  his  knees.  One  arm  clasped  the 
moaning  brute  to  his  breast,  the  other  lifted  the 
horn,  and  with  streaming  tears  of  love  and  rage  he 
blew  a  recall.  I  spurred  on.  An  opening  in  the 
tops  of  the  shore  underbrush  revealed  to  me  Euony- 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  379 

mus,  in  deep  water,  quite  spent  after  a  few  strokes 
at  swimming.  At  the  winding  of  the  horn  Charmer 
had  quit  the  chase,  but  the  young  dog  kept  on.  The 
current  was  swift  where  Euonymus  had  attempted 
it,  and  as  I  saw  the  dark  head  and  struggling  arms 
of  the  fugitive  swept  along  by  it,  I  strove,  in  vain, 
to  crash  down  into  the  stream  through  vines,  brush 
and  out-leaning  trees.  Twice  while  I  did  so  the 
drowning  runaway  called  a  name  I  had  not  previ 
ously  heard  among  the  four.  But  no  answer  came. 
"  Catch  the  fallen  tree  below  you !  "  I  shouted. 

The  tree  itself  obeyed.  It  was  a  long  slim  but- 
tonwood,  from  under  which  the  current  had  cut  away 
the  bank.  It  hung  almost  prone  over  the  water,  and 
one  fork  of  it,  hidden  beneath  the  flood,  seized  and 
held  the  exhausted  form  of  Euonymus.  The  blood 
hound  had  swum  nearly  to  the  spot,  but  taught  by 
his  earlier  encounter,  began  to  make  half-circuits, 
baying  as  he  swam.  I  dashed  on  upstream  for  the 
opening  by  which  the  slaves  had  gone  down  into 
the  river. 

While  I  went,  the  horn  of  the  negro-chaser 
sounded  again  for  the  truant  dog,  and  rang  back 
from  forest  and  stream,  plaintive  yet  imperious. 
But  when  I  burst  out  upon  the  gravelly  shallow  the 
dog  was  still  in  the  deep  water  about  the  fallen  tree, 
and  the  moment  he  saw  me  coming  he  plunged  for 
ward  to  the  attack.  Euonymus  had  struggled  in 
along  the  level  branches  of  the  buttonwood,  and  was 
gaining  the  bank.  A  few  steps  up  the  river  lay  a 


380  A  House  Party 

dozen  yards  or  so  of  green  open  ground,  burnt  off 
by  the  spread  of  some  night-fisherman's  fire,  and  as 
the  dog  shot  furiously  into  it,  the  flying  Euonymus, 
near  its  middle,  suddenly  stood  at  bay,  and  presently 
dropped  to  one  knee,  crying  "  Sarepta !  Sarepta,  run ! 
run,  Sarepta,  'ever  mine  me!  fo'  de  Lawd's  sake, 
run !  " 

I  wonder  if  science  will  ever  tell  us  why  a  negro, 
to  defend  any  other  part  of  his  frame,  will  always 
interpose  his  head.  Has  it  become  the  natural  mo 
tion  of  the  slave,  who  may  not  strike  ?  The  head  of 
Euonymus  came  down  only  at  the  last  moment,  yet 
it  came  with  the  quickness  of  instinct,  and  just  in 
time  to  save  the  neck  from  the  fangs  of  the  hound, 
while  in  the  same  instant,  both  hands  clutched  the 
brute's  throat.  Had  I  dreamed  they  could  keep  their 
hold  I  should  at  once  have  swum  my  horse  over 
the  narrow  flood  between  us;  but  already  I  was 
within  easy  pistol-shot,  and  leaping  down  into  the 
water  at  the  edge  of  the  shallow  I  watched  my 
chance  to  shoot  the  dog.  But  with  the  strength  of 
despair  the  slave's  grip  held  on.  The  ferocious 
beast  bit  his  holder  again  and  again  on  legs  and  on 
arms,  but  the  hold  did  not  loosen,  and  all  at  once 
Euonymus,  straightening  to  full  stature,  lifted  the 
dog  until  the  beast  could  barely  tiptoe  the  earth  with 
one  pair  of  feet.  Only  then  did  I  realise  the  awful 
bulk  of  the  brute. 

"Right!"  I  cried;  "right,  my  brave  boy!  lift 
him  clear !  oh,  lift  him  clear  of  the  ground !  "  For 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  381 

I  believed  that  the  moment  the  animal  felt  the 
ground  gone  from  under  him  he  would  be  con 
quered.  But  now  the  overtasked  Euonymus  seemed 
able  only  to  hold  off  his  assailant's  fiendish  gnash- 
ings  from  throat  and  face. 

"  Turn  him  broadside !  "  I  shouted,  and  all  at 
once  became  aware  that  I  had  waded  into  the  deep 
ening  water  until  it  was  above  my  waist.  "  Turn 
him!  turn  him  broadside  till  I  put  a  hole  through 
him!" 

But  in  heroic  silence  the  young  runaway  fought 
on,  and  gave  no  sign  of  hearing  me.  Something 
caused  me  to  glance  back,  and  there  came  Harby. 
He  was  already  out  on  the  gravel-bar.  The  die  was 
cast;  I  saw  myself  a  hunted  man,  fallen,  disgraced, 
a  nigger-stealer,  an  exile,  an  outlaw,  and  I  levelled 
my  weapon,  "  Stand,"  I  yelled,  "  or  I'll  shoot  you, 
you  vilest  hound  of  the  pack !  " 

He  hauled  in  his  horse  and  lifted  the  horn.  I 
darted  a  glance  back  toward  my  fellow-runaway, 
and  as  I  did  so  Euonymus  heaved  the  dog  from  his 
feet,  the  horn  rang,  and  with  a  howl  of  terror  the 
brute  writhed  free,  scampered  to  the  water's  edge, 
leaped  in,  and  swam  toward  his  master.  I  dragged 
myself  into  the  saddle  and  took  the  deep  water. 

When  I  reached  the  scene  of  the  combat  only  the 
front  half  of  the  fugitive's  hickory-shirt  was  there, 
bloody  and  torn  to  rags;  its  wearer  had  vanished. 
I  spurred  to  a  gap  in  the  bushes,  and  there,  face 
down,  lay  Euonymus,  insensible.  I  dropped  to  my 


382  A  House  Party 

knees  and  turned  the  slender,  limp  form;  and  then, 
without  taking  time  for  one  hand's  turn  to  bring 
back  its  life,  I  whipped  off  my  coat  and  laid  it  over 
the  still,  black  bosom ;  for  Euonymus  was  a  girl. 

Then  I  understood  that  the  strange  name  she  had 
called  when  in  the  terrors  of  drowning  she  had 
raised  her  one  and  only  cry  for  human  succour,  was 
the  true  name  of  Sarepta,  and  that  that  strong 
swimmer  was  her  brother.  Before  I  could  leave  my 
knees  her  eyelids  quivered ;  then  they  opened ;  for  a 
moment  the  eyes  were  vacant,  but  in  the  next  her 
bosom  heaved,  she  saw  me,  her  shapely  hand  sought 
the  space  beneath  her  throat  where  the  shirt  should 
have  been  buttoned,  and  finding  there  my  coat,  she 
turned  face  and  breast  once  more  to  the  sod,  and 
moaned  that  name  again :  "  Julius !  " 

"  Come,"  I  said,  "  we'll  find  Julius;  rise  up."  I 
gave  my  hand,  and  she  rose  lightly,  clutching  the 
coat  to  her  breast,  but  would  have  fallen  again  had  I 
not  steadied  her. 

"  Whah's  Julius  ?  Oh,  Lawdy !  is  dey  cotch 
Julius?" 

"  No,  they  haven't  caught  any  of  us,  although — " 

"  De  Lawd's  name  be  pra-aise' !  " 

"  Put  this  coat  on  while  I  mount,"  said  I,  and 
she  did  so.  "  Now  your  hand  again;  you'd  best  sit 
woman-fashion — spring !  " 

She  landed  firmly  on  the  horse's  croup,  and  we 
sped  into  the  darkening  woods. 

A  blessed  bit  of  fortune  it  turned  out  to  be,  my 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  383 

so  cruelly  wounding  Dandy  instead  of  killing  him 
outright.  It  kept  his  master  from  following  hot 
footed  at  our  heels  or  galloping  about  the  country 
side  to  get  others  to  do  so  in  his  stead  without  wait 
ing  for  daylight.  I  suppose  he  did  not  want  any  one 
else,  instead  of  himself,  to  have  the  sweet  comfort  of 
killing  me. 

Hard  by  the  nearest  telegraph  station  I  dropped 
the  gentle  Euonymus  in  a  thicket  of  wild-plum, 
rode  to  the  station  "  store  ",  left  my  worn  beast,  and 
telegraphed  the  livery-stable  man  where  to  find  him. 
Then  I  rejoined  my  fellow-runagate,  and  about  ten 
that  night  on  the  bank  of  a  creek,  we  found  her 
father,  mother  and  brother.  The  mother  wept  for 
joy  at  sight  of  Euonymus,  and  so  mollified  my  pri 
vate  resentment  against  her  for  having  kept  her 
promise,  to  try  hardest  to  save  her  son.  Near  the 
stream's  farther  shore,  at  a  railroad  water-tank,  we 
stole  into  an  empty  car  of  a  passing  freight-train, 
and  when,  at  close  of  the  next  day,  hunger  drove  us 
out  of  it  on  a  lonely  siding  at  the  edge  of  a  forest, 
our  late  pursuers  were  two  hundred  miles  behind 
us. 

All  that  night  we  fled  afoot.  On  the  day  fol 
lowing*  we  lost  Julius.  In  broad  noon,  with  an 
overseer  and  his  gang  plainly  in  sight  in  an  adjoin 
ing  cornfield,  his  self-command  crumbled  away 
under  the  seductions  of  a  melon-patch,  and  he 
howled  away  his  freedom  in  the  grip  of  a  bear-trap 
set  for  such  slaves  of  appetite  as  he.  His  father 


384  A  House  Party 

mother  wept  helplessly  and  laid  their  faces  to  the 
ground  in  prayer;  his  sister  was  frantic.  To  have 
seen  her  and  not  him,  one  might  have  thought  him 
her  own  unweanecl  child.  With  all  her  superior 
sanity  I  doubt  if  she  would  have  left  the  region 
could  she  have  prevailed  upon  her  parents  to  go  on 
without  her. 

Here  let  me  make  an  end ;  what  pleasure  is  there 
in  the  history  of  a  white  man,  a  southerner  born  and 
bred,  lying  bush-hidden  in  the  swamps  day  after 
day,  and  skulking  through  them  by  night,  in  the 
company  and  fellowship  of  three  runaway  negroes? 
True  it  is  their  story,  not  his,  and  it  would  be  only 
fair  to  tell  much  more  about  their  sweet,  droll  piety 
and  the  humble  generosity  of  their  minds  and  hearts. 
In  the  end  we  reached  a  northern  State.  Ah!  it 
was  no  Canaan.  Yet  they  were  not  cast  down;  no 
ancient  Israelite  ever  looked  forward  to  the  coming 
of  a  political  Messiah  with  more  pious  confidence 
than  did  they,  still,  look  forward  to  a  day  when  their 
whole  dark  race  should  be  free  and  enjoy  every  right 
which  any  other  race  enjoys. 

"  Even  the  right  to  cross  the  two  races  ? "  I 
asked  the  father  once,  smiling  him  on,  though  with 
secret  loathing. 

"  No,  suh !  "  he  replied,  and  his  wife  and  daughter 
fairly  jerked  out  a  soft  grunt  of  concurrence;  "no, 
suh !  de  same  Lawd  what  give  ev'y  man  a  wuck  to 
do  what  he  cayn't  do  ef  he  ain't  dat  man,  give  ev'y 


The  Angel  of  the  Lord  385 

race  o  men  a  wuck  to  do  what  dey  cayn't  do  ef  dey 
ain't  dat  ra-ace." 

I  fancy  he  had  been  years  thinking  that  out  into 
a  conviction  clear  enough  for  speech. 

"  Still,"  I  cunningly  suggested,  "  races  have 
crossed,  and  made  new  and  better  ones." 

"  I  don't  'spute  dat,  suh ;  no,  suh.  But  de  Lawd 
ain't  neveh  gwine  fo'  to  make  a  betteh  race  by 
crossin'  one  what  already  done  all  dat  eveh  yit  been 
done,  on  to  anotheh " 

Euonymus  would  not  let  him  finish.  "  On  to  an 
otheh,"  she  broke  in,  "  what  ain't  neveh  yit  done 
nothin' !  "  And  her  mother  breathed  a  long  amen. 

I  kept  the  acquaintance  and  friendship  of  Euony 
mus  for  years.  Indeed  it  was  through  her  sweet  and 
gentle  log-rolling  that  I  got  my  wife.  But  that  was 
after  the  Civil  War;  into  which  I  went,  in  spite  of 
all,  would  you  believe  it  ? — on  the  southern  side,  and 
came  out  a  Confederate  brigadier. 

******** 

"  And  now  we've  just  time,  before  the  clock  tells 
twelve,  to  have  our  twelfth  and  last  story,"  an 
nounced  Mrs.  Goddard,  "  and  I  want  a  real  volun 
teer  this  time." 

Absolute  silence. 

"  Oh  please!  "  begged  the  hostess,  looking  about. 

A  girl  gave  a  little  movement  in  her  chair,  and 
drew  a  deep  breath.  "  I  don't  know/'  she  began, 
and  then  halted  and  flushed. 


386  A  House  Party 

"But  we  do,"  finished  Harold,  "and  I'll  be 
bound  you'll  give  us  the  best  one  yet." 

"  Oh,  no,"  denied  the  maiden,  anxiously.  "  I 
only — I'm  afraid  I'll  spoil  it — but  when  I  was  a  little 
girl  my  grandmother  used  to  tell  me  a  story  of  our 
family  which  she  had  found  in  an  old  paper — and  I 
used  to  get  her  to  repeat  it  again  and  again — and  I 
thought  perhaps  that  I  could  tell  it  to  you,  just  as 
she  used  to  tell  it  to  me — for  I  heard  it  so  often  that 
if  she  changed  a  single  word,  I  knew  it." 

"  Good !  "  "  Brava !  "  "  That's  just  what  we 
want,"  came  a  chorus. 

"  Then  I'll  try  and  tell  it  word  for  word,  as  she 
did.  Grandmama  called  it '  THE  RED  OXEN  OF 
BONVAL'."  The  girl  drew  a  long  breath  and 
began : 


RED  OXEN  OF  BONVAL 


*  C  £>  O  it  is  merely  to  these  good  beasts,  then,"  said 
"^\  Mademoiselle  mockingly,  "  that  I  owe  the 
honour  of  this  visit  from  the  much-occupied 
Captain  Glenning!  And  I  had  been  flattering  my 
self  !  Mais — 'tis  ever  so  with  us  poor  maids,  Mon 
sieur  !  We  cannot  be  permitted  to  cherish  our  pretty 
delusions, — no,  not  even  so  long  as  that !  "  And 
she  gave  a  daring  little  snip  of  her  little  brown  thumb 
and  slim  forefinger.  It  was  nothing  so  pronounced 
as  a  snap,  of  course;  yet  it  was  one  of  those  things 
which  only  the  right  woman  can  do  in  the  right  way, 
and  which  are  all  wrong  if  wrong  by  a  hair's-breadth. 

As  she  spoke,  her  small  dark  head  to  one  side,  she 
gazed  at  me  straight  in  the  eyes,  laughingly,  wick 
edly,  in  a  manner  that  was  both  a  challenge  and  an 
inhibition.  It  was  indeed,  a  dare  to  all  gallant  pro 
testation;  but,  at  the  same  time,  there  was  some 
thing  which  forbade  that  one  should  ever  dream  of 
taking  up  the  little  glove  so  recklessly  thrown  down. 

This  had  ever  been  Jeanne  de  Bonval's  way,  in 
deed,  during  those  two  brief  weeks  of  the  preceding 
winter  which  she  had  spent  in  Halifax,  with  half  of 
the  officers  of  the  garrison  sighing  vainly  at  her 
small,  disdainful  feet.  Not  one  of  us  but  had  been 
held  always  at  tantalising  distance,  piqued  by  a  sweet 
and  dangerous  raillery.  If  there  were  one  for  whom 
her  wit  assumed  less  keen  an  edge  than  was  its  wont, 

387 


388  A  House  Party 

that  one,  I  thought,  was  myself ;  and  I  was  not  alone 
in  this  suspicion.  Yet  never,  even  with  the  courage 
of  this  thought  in  my  heart,  had  I  dared  put  things 
to  the  test,  lest  raw  haste  should  bungle  my  hopes. 
Of  love  or  wooing,  or  of  aught  more  intimate  than 
the  ceremonious  compliment,  I  had  suffered  not  my 
lips  to  say  one  word,  waiting  till  that  aloof  and  im 
perious  spirit  which  I  felt,  rather  than  saw,  lurking 
behind  her  challenging  audacity,  should  have  been 
lulled  to  sleep. 

Now,  therefore,  when  she  made  sport  of  the  busi 
ness  which  had  brought  me  to  her  home  on  the  St. 
Croix,  where  she  lived  a  remote  yet  busy  life  with 
her  widowed  and  ailing  mother,  she  had  me,  as  of 
old,  at  her  mercy.  My  unready  wits  and  my  most 
unready  French  held  me  silent,  as  of  old;  but  I  took 
heart  to  let  my  eyes  speak  with  a  plainness  that  could 
need  no  interpreter.  For  just  an  instant  her  own  eyes 
softened  and  dropped,  while  a  faint  rose  tinged  the 
clear  brown  of  her  cheek.  The  one  tiny  foot,  in  its 
moccasin  of  whitened  deerskin  and  dyed  quill-work, 
tapped  the  floor  nervously,  and  she  met  my  gaze 
again  with  a  look  that  carried  the  old  inhibition  with 
full  force.  Evidently  she  thought  I  was  going  to 
speak  too  boldly, — going  to  take  the  dare,  and  tell 
the  truth  which  she  knew  was  burning  on  my  tongue, 
— for  she  spoke  again  hastily,  yet  in  the  same  mock 
ing,  provocative  vein. 

"  Oh,  no  truly,"  she  cried,  shaking  her  head,  and 
flashing  her  white  teeth  between  her  scarlet  lips, 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          389 

"I  would  not  that  one  of  you  so  honest  English 
should  do  violence  to  his  honesty  by  flattering  a  poor 
country  maid.  Yet  our  Frenchmen  say  nice  things 
to  us,  and  we  know  they  do  not  mean  them,  and  we 
are  pleased  all  the  same.  They  would  say  that  they 
came  to  lay  their  devoted  services  at  my  feet  and 
that  the  Governor's  business  was  but  an  incident.  Is 
it  not  so  Monsieur?  But  you  would  not  so  flatter 
me.  Oh,  no;  though  you  must  know  that  I  have 
no  one  here  to  make  me  compliments,  except  my 
dear,  dear  mother,  who  is  nigh  blind  and  cannot  see 
me,  and  old  Tamin,  my  overseer,  who  is  equally 
blind  because  he  loves  me  so.  But,  never  mind," 
• — she  went  on,  suddenly  changing  her  tone,  and 
speaking  with  reminiscence  in  her  voice  "  it  is  pleas 
ant  to  have  a  visitor  from  Halifax  even  if  it  be  but 
the  Governor's  business  that  brings  him.  Let  us 
then  talk  of  the  Governor's  business,  and  the  cattle." 

"  Indeed,  Mademoiselle/'  I  began,  having  had 
time  to  fashion  my  phrases  in  the  unfamiliar  tongue, 
"  duty  has  but  opened  for  me  the  door  of  desire,  and 
now " 

"  That  is  very  nice !  "  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands 
and  wickedly  interrupting.  "  Now  do  I  begin  to  be 
lieve  that  there  still  are  kings  and  courts  in  the 
wide,  far  world,  and  stately  dames,  and  minuets,  and 
patches.  I  had  begun  to  fear  that  I  was,  perhaps, 
after  all,  the  peasant  girl  you  seemed  to  think  me," 
(she,  with  the  blood  of  the  de  la  Tours  and  the  de 
Razillys  in  her  veins!)  or  an  Indian  maid,  in  these 


390  A  House  Party 

moccasins."  And  she  half  thrust  out  the  little 
foot,  and  quickly  drew  it  back  beneath  the  white 
homespun  petticoat.  "  What  if  all  that  gay  life,  the 
lights,  and  the  glitter,  and  the  music,  and  the  danc 
ing,  and  the  courtly  compliments  that  sound  so  pretty 
and  mean  so  little,  were  just  a  dream,  Monsieur! 
Sometimes  I  think  it  so,  here  alone  on  the  farm,  with 
just  mother  who  forgets  .things  now,  and  Tamin, 
and  old  Annette  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  chickens  and 
the  cows  to  talk  to." 

"  The  place  which  is  blessed  by  your  presence, 
Mademoiselle, — the  life  which  has  you  to  adorn  it, — 
that  place  and  that  life,  in  court  or  in  country,  are  the 
best,"  I  answered  fervently,  emboldened  by  the  seri 
ousness  of  her  concluding  words.  Then  with  hasty 
return  of  prudence  I  changed  my  tone.  "  The  fact  is 
I  only  reached  Fort  Piziquid  this  very  noon.  Scant 
ing  to  the  utmost  such  time  as  was  needful  for  my 
toilet,  I  took  a  fresh  horse  and  rode  straight  hither. 
I  am  sure  that  the  Governor,  though  an  impatient 
man  himself,  would  have  thought  my  haste  much 
keener  than  any  urgency  in  my  business  might  seem 
to  call  for!" 

"  Ah,  Monsieur,'7  said  she,  with  affected  serious 
ness,  "  Believe  me,  you  do  not  know  what  need  there 
may  be  of  haste  in  this  matter  of  the  cattle  which 
your  Governor  is  so  solicitous  to  possess.  You  do 
not  know  what  peril  may  threaten  these  good  beasts, 
to  which  I  am  so  indebted  for  the  pleasure  of  this 
visit  from  Captain  Glenning!  But,  Monsieur  must 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          391 

excuse  me  if  I  leave  him  for  a  few  moments,  while 
I  go  to  tell  my  mother  of  his  coming,  and  learn  if  she 
feels  strong  enough  this  afternoon  to  see  him.  Then, 
if  it  please  you,  we  will  consider  more  minutely 
this  business  of  the  Governor's !  " 

As  she  moved  across  the  broad,  dusky  room,  a 
gaunt  white  cat  which  I  had  not  before  observed 
dropped  from  a  shelf  and  trotted  after  her  like  a 
dog.  She  herself  went  noiseless  and  smoothly,  like 
a  creature  of  the  woods,  with  a  motion  singularly 
different  from  the  formal  and  stately  grace  which 
had  belonged  to  her  in  the  ball  rooms  of  Halifax. 
She  flashed  upon  me  one  radiant  yet  half-flouting 
glance,  and  disappeared  through  a  curtained  door, 
while  I  stood  staring  after  her,  eyes  and  heart  alike 
filled  with  the  delectable  vision. 

If  I  had  been  in  love  with  Jeanne  de  Bonval  in 
Halifax,  where  she  was  altogether  the  grande  dame, 
to  every  scrupulously  calculated  requirement  of  patch 
and  powder  and  precision  of  ceremony,  I  was  ten 
fold  more  in  love  with  her  now.  Beautiful  indeed 
had  she  seemed  to  me  then,  above  all  other  women; 
but  she  was  tenfold  more  beautiful  now,  from  the 
dainty  white-moccasined  feet  and  slender  ankles 
to  the  black,  rebellious  waves  of  her  thick  hair, 
whose  strange  iridescences  of  bronze  and  purple 
should  never  have  been  desecrated  by  powder,  unless 
as  a  merciful  provision  that  other  women  might 
not  die  of  envy.  One  curl,  not  over  long,  came 
down  beside  her  small,  half-hidden  ear,  with  an  air 


392  A  House  Party 

of  having  escaped  the  pins  that  should  have  held  it. 
Her  face,  tanned  to  the  clearest  and  most  velvet 
brown,  had  that  subtle  modelling  which  only  genera 
tions  of  fine  breeding  can  confer, — and  the  like  seal 
of  her  ancestors  was  to  be  discerned  in  her  slim 
fingers  with  their  rosy  oval  nails.  But  the  resistless 
enchantment  of  her  face  appeared  to  dwell  in  her 
eyes  and  in  her  mouth, — eyes  of  alternate  light  and 
shadow,  mystery  and  revelation, — mouth  upon  whose 
scarlet  curves  mirth  and  sadness  came  and  went, 
childishness  and  womanliness  replaced  each  other  at 
a  thought.  She  wore  the  short  skirt  of  homespun 
linen  most  in  use  among  the  country  girls  of  Acaclia, 
but  undyed,  and  bleached  to  a  creamy  whiteness, 
with  white  sleeves  puffed  at  the  shoulders,  and  a 
bodice  of  some  soft  blue  stuff  marvellously  becom 
ing.  And  my  whole  soul  went  out  to  her,  kissing  the 
places  on  the  floor  where  the  little  moccasined  feet 
had  stepped.  It  is  permitted,  indeed,  for  the  soul 
to  do  what  in  the  body, — and  especially  a  body  six 
feet  tall  and  broad  in  proportion, — might  look  ri 
diculous.  But  was  it  not,  forsooth,  almost  ridiculous 
that  I  should  stand  in  this  way  with  my  eyes  glued  to 
the  door  through  which  My  Lady  had  disappeared? 
"Would  this  fetch  her?"  I  asked  myself,  with  a 
half  laugh  under  my  breath;  and  I  turned  to  speed 
the  moments  by  gazing  out  upon  the  fair  prospect 
under  the  window. 

A  fair  prospect  indeed !    The  old  manor  house  of 
the  De  Bonvals  was  on  the  sunward  slope  of  the  up- 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          393 

lands,  overlooking  the  rich  dyke-meadows  of  the  St. 
Croix  stream.  On  either  side  were  apple-orchards, 
hiding  the  barns  and  outbuildings ;  and  one  tall  lom- 
bardy  poplar,  straight  and  stiff  as  a  church  steeple, 
stood  guard  at  each  side  of  the  open  space  which 
led  up  to  the  front  door.  This  open  space  was  a  gar 
den,  given  over  to  currant  bushes, — beds  of  pinks 
and  marigolds,  scarlet-lychnis  and  love-lies-bleeding, 
tangles  of  red  and  yellow  roses,  and  thickets  of  tall 
blue  larkspur.  Along  the  foot  of  the  garden  a  hedge 
of  lilac  shrubs;  then  the  road;  then  the  wide  dyke- 
lands,  level,  golden  green,  and  dotted  with  small 
red  cattle  pasturing  on  the  aftermath.  Beyond  the 
winding  lines  of  the  dyke  wound  the  river,  now 
placid  and  golden  at  full  tide,  and  then,  at  the  other 
side  of  the  tawny  flood,  more  meadows,  bordered 
by  dark  green  hills  of  spruce  and  fir.  A  strong  and 
sweet  landscape  this,  I  thought;  tranquil,  yet  not 
tame,  and  visited  by  change  twice  daily,  when  the 
huge  tides  emptying  themselves  down  past  Piziquid 
and  forth  under  the  black  front  of  Blomidon,  left 
bare  the  gaping  channels  of  copper  red.  So  lovely  a 
scene,  and  one  set  so  deep  in  her  love, — was  there 
any  hope  that  I  should  prevail  with  her  to  leave  it 
for  a  home  in  the  raw  little  city  of  Halifax,  yet 
noisy  with  the  hammers  of  the  builders?  Well,  I 
was  resolved, — and  here  I  renewed  my  resolution, — 
that  upon  this  visit  I  would  put  my  fate  to  the  test, 
if  Mademoiselle's  eyes  would  but  for  an  instant  re 
frain  from  routing  my  courage;  and  I  blessed  the 


394  A  House  Party 

small  red  cattle  there  at  their  pasturing,  that  they 
had  been  the  means  of  procuring  to  me  this  long 
craved  opportunity.  For  all  her  raillery,  Mademoi 
selle  Jeanne  must  have  well  known  how  tied  to  my 
post  I  was  at  Halifax,  how  sorely  I  had  been  chafing 
at  my  fetters,  and  how  only  the  urgent  need  of  pro 
visions  for  the  garrison  could  induce  the  Governor 
to  send  me  on  so  long  a  journey  at  a  time  when  he 
had  daily  need  of  my  services. 

Noiseless,  as  I  have  said,  were  her  feet,  like  a 
moth's  wing  in  the  twilight  of  the  honeysuckles ;  but 
I  felt  her  coming,  and  turned  with  leaping  heart  to 
find  her  at  my  shoulder. 

"  My  mother,"  said  she,  "  begs  that  you  will  stay 
and  sup  with  us,  Monsieur." 

I  bowed  my  glad  assent,  but  before  I  could  speak 
she  went  on  in  her  quick  way 

"  And  we  have  now  just  time  to  talk  of  this  busi 
ness  of  the  Governor's  upon  which  you  are  so  zeal 
ous.  He  desires,  you  say,  to  purchase  these  good 
beasts  of  mine  yonder,  for  the  garrison  ?  '' 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle !  "  It  was  better  I  thought 
to  get  the  business  done  with,  and  clean  set  aside, 
that  she  might  have  one  weapon  the  less  wherewith 
to  put  me  off  from  weightier  matters.  "  He  bids 
me  convey  to  you  his  profoundest  consideration,  and 
to  express  the  hope  that  you  will  again  honour  Hali 
fax  with  your  presence  this  coming  winter.  He  bids 
me  say,  also,  that  he  knows  how  to  value  the  friend 
liness  of  a  de  Bonval,  and  begs  that  you  will  ask  him 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          395 

a  price  something  higher  than  the  best  that  you 
could  hope  to  obtain  elsewhere! '' 

"  But  you,  Monsieur,"  she  answered,  looking  at 
me  gravely,  "  you  must  surely  know  that  it  is  not 
possible  for  me  to  sell  provision  to  your  garrison !  " 

Here  it  was  again,  the  barrier  that  confronted  us 
at  every  turn  when  dealing  with  the  Acadians;  and 
it  moved  me  deeply  to  find  that  even  Mademoiselle  de 
Bonval  was  not  an  exception.  At  once  I  became  the 
eager  advocate  of  our  cause,  identifying  it  with  my 
own  private  interest.  Her  refusal  seemed  to  put  her 
farther  off,  out  of  my  reach,  behind  ambitions,  sym 
pathies,  purposes  which  were  alien  and  remote.  In 
arguing  the  Governor's  case  I  was  indeed  pleading 
my  own. 

"  But,  Mademoiselle,  we  have  hoped  so  much  from 
your  friendship,"  I  urged,  too  fervently  for  a  mere 
matter  of  fat  cattle.  "  Everywhere,  the  Acadians 
refuse  to  sell,  us  the  food  which  we  have  a  right  to 
purchase,  offering  the  best  prices  for  what  we  might 
take  at  our  own  price;  and  we  have  reason  to  know 
that  all  the  time,  in  spite  of  the  law  against  it  and  the 
risk  of  severe  punishment,  they  are  selling  these 
same  things  which  we  so  much  need  to  our  enemies 
at  Louisbourg,  and  for  a  paltry  price.  But  you, 
Mademoiselle, — we  have  hoped  and  believed  that 
you  were  one  of  ourselves,  and  would  set  these  poor 
habitants  an  example.  Oh,  surely  you  are  one  of 
us,  are  you  not,  Mademoiselle?  " 

She  had  listened  with  gravity  in  her  great  eyes, 


396  A  House  Party 

but  now  the  old  mockery  leapt  into  them,  and  she 
laughed,  with  her  head  on  one  side. 

"  How  eloquent  you  can  be,  Monsieur,  on  a  matter 
of  business, — you  who  are  wont  to  be  so  silent  when 
I  would  hear  pretty  speeches !  " 

My  face  fell,  as  I  realised  how  much  in  earnest 
I  had  been, — and  seemingly  on  a  mere  question  of 
fat  cattle!  My  heart  grew  hot,  and  my  face  grew 
red  at  the  thought.  Then,  of  a  sudden  I  understood 
my  own  fervour.  Looking  deep  into  her  eyes  I  said : 

"  It  was  because  I  was  jealous, — I  am  mad  with 
jealousy,  if  you  have  interests  and  dreams  which  I 
cannot  share,  if  you  have  any  part  in  life  that  sepa 
rates  you  from  my  love!  And  forgetting  all  about 
Kings,  and  Governors,  and  garrisons,  I  seized  her 
hand  and  pressed  it  fiercely  to  my  lips." 

On  the  instant,  however,  and  before  my  lips  could 
half  realise  their  own  ecstasy,  the  little  hand  was 
dexterously  extricated.  A  slight  flush  crept  into  Ma 
demoiselle's  face,  and  her  eyes  fell.  She  didn't  seem 
offended ;  but  there  was  the  faintest  tinge  of  auster 
ity  in  her  voice — the  old  effective  inhibition, — as  she 
said : 

"  I  can  honestly  commend  your  zeal  to  the  Gover 
nor,  Monsieur.  And  as  for  this  friendship  of  mine, 
which  you  would  make  so  important  that  the  Gov 
ernor  should  give  heed  to  it,  indeed,  Monsieur,  in 
significant  as  it  is,  it  is  loyal.  I  am  English  at  heart. 
When  we  de  Bonvals  swore  allegiance  to  the  English 
Throne  we  did  it  with  our  hearts  as  well  as  with  our 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          397 

lips.  And  most  gladly,  now,  would  I  meet  the  de 
mand  of  your  Governor.  But  surely  you  must  un 
derstand  that  I  cannot — because  I  dare  not!  " 

"  Dare  not?"  I  cried,  with  amazed  indignation 
that  any  one  should  have  power  to  coerce  or  make  her 
afraid. 

"  Can  you  keep  a  garrison  here  at  Bonval  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  Shall  I  show  my  loyalty  by  letting  this 
house  of  my  fathers  be  burned  down,  over  the  head 
of  my  sick  mother?  " 

I  was  thunderstruck.  I  could  not  have  believed 
that  any  peril  was  imminent  to  her  from  our  ene 
mies;  here  on  the  St.  Croix  within  five  miles  of  the 
Piziquid  fort.  Yet  I  knew  well  enough  that  these 
were  no  idle  words  of  hers.  Her  sincerity  was  above 
question;  and  she  was  not  the  stuff  of  which  hys 
terical  alarmists  are  fashioned.  But  before  I  could 
make  question  of  the  danger  I  was  favoured  by  for 
tune  with  a  most  unexpected  enlightening.  "  But, 
Mademoiselle," — I  was  beginning  to  stammer,  when 
old  Tamin,  her  factor,  came  in  hastily,  following 
upon  his  knock  before  she  had  time  to  bid  him 
enter. 

"  Your  pardon,"  he  cried,  hat  in  hand  and  bowing 
low,  but  Father  La  Game  and  some  of  his  red  flock- 
are  close  at  hand.  It  were  well  that  Monsieur  the 
Englishman  were  hidden  at  once.  I  have  buried 
his  saddle  in  the  hay  and  turned  his  horse  out  to 
pasture!" 

So  this   was  the  notorious  partisan  priest,   La 


398  A  House  Party 

Game,  condemned  by  his  church,  feared  by  the  Aca- 
dians,  hated  by  us  English  with  a  fiery  hate,  who 
came  now  so  inopportunely  to  spoil  my  wooing! 
Hide  from  him  and  his  crew  ?  My  blood  boiled,  as  I 
laid  hands  on  the  pistols  in  my  belt. 

"  Hide  from  those  vermin  ?  "  I  exclaimed.  Then 
I  saw  that  Mademoiselle's  face  had  gone  white  to 
the  lips;  and  I  hesitated.  "You  must,  indeed  you 
must,"  she  cried,  seizing  me  by  the  arm  and  trying 
to  lead  me  toward  a  small  door  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  "  They  will  be  too  many.  You  will  be  killed 
— and — scalped." 

I  felt  her  trembling.     But  I  refused  to  obey  her. 

"  I  have  my  weapons !  "  I  protested  obstinately. 
"Would  you  have  me  leave  you  unprotected?" 

She  stopped  and  became  suddenly  calm. 

"  I  am  in  no  danger, — unless  from  your  pres 
ence!"  she  said  firmly.  "Will  you  do  as  I  wish? 
Or  will  you  force  me  to  see  you  murdered  before 

my  eyes?"  Then  her  calm  forsook  her  again 

"  Oh,  madness!  Are  you  mad?  "  she  cried  wildly. 
"  Don't  you  love  me?  Come!  Come!" 

"  I  love  you  "  said  I  quietly,  following  her  to  the 
door.  She  opened  it.  I  stepped  into  the  scented 
darkness  of  a  closet,  where  soft,  feminine  stuffs  hung 
on  pegs.  She  closed  the  door,  and  I  heard  her  turn 
the  key.  What  did  I  care  whether  hiding  was  digni 
fied  or  not?  She  had  shown  her  heart  in  that  swift 
and  desperate  moment,  and  I  was  drunk  with  happi 
ness.  Yes,  indeed,  I  would  hide  as  stealthily  as  a 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          399 

wood-mouse,  if  she  wished  it.  That  there  might 
be  no  risk  of  noise  from  my  heavy  boots,  I  lay  down 
on  a  heap  of  furs,  close  to  the  door, — and  found  that 
I  could  see  out  into  the  room  through  a  crack  in  the 
panelling  just  on  a  level  with  my  eyes. 

Barely  had  I  disposed  myself  so  as  best  to 
use  this  advantage,  when  I  heard  a  man's  voice, 
strong  and  hoarse,  at  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  and  then  the  low  music  of  Mademoiselle 
Jeanne's  welcome.  But  they  were  too  far  off  for 
me  to  catch  anything  that  was  said.  Presently, 
however,  they  drew  nearer  to  my  hiding-place,  and 
their  words  reached  my  ear  with  a  distinctness  al 
most  startling.  I  understood  this  to  be  a  piece  of 
My  Lady's  strategy,  that  I  might  be  entertained, 
and  informed,  in  my  prison;  and  I  blessed  her 
for  it. 

"  I  am  advised,  my  Daughter,"  La  Game's  harsh 
voice  was  saying,  "  that  your  husbandry  has  greatly 
prospered  this  year." 

"  The  saints,  have,  indeed,  favoured  me  far  be 
yond  my  poor  deserts,"  answered  Mademoiselle  in 
deferential  tones. 

"  You  have  grain  in  garner,  beyond  your  necessi 
ties,  I  am  told;  and  fatted  oxen,  ready  for  market,  is 
it  not  so?" 

"  My  barley  is  not  yet  threshed,  Father,"  was  the 
respectful  reply.  "  (Scarce  did  I  recognise  my  im 
perious  mistress  in  this  attitude  of  strange  humility.) 
"  And  I  have  ten  arpents  of  buckwheat  on  the  up- 


400  A  House  Party 

lands,  not  yet  ripe  for  the  sickle.  As  for  my  oxen, 
they  are  what  you  see  yonder  on  the  aftermath, — • 
not  large,  but  well  nourished." 

"  It  is  touching  them  that  I  would  speak  with  you, 
my  daughter.  Beyond  admonishing  you  that  you 
hold  faithful  to  the  cause  of  France,  who  will  yet  re 
turn  to  her  own,  and  rule  once  more  over  all  this 
land  of  Acadia  now  groaning  under  the  English 
usurper, — beyond  admonishing  you  thus,  which  is 
doubtless  unnecessary,  I  have  no  time  for  the  civil 
ities  of  my  more  fortunate  and  more  courtly 
brethren.  Yet,  it  is  perhaps  given  me  to  serve  the 
cause  of  France  in  no  common  manner!"  (Here 
there  came  into  his  voice  a  note  of  fanatical  zeal, 
and  I  felt  that  the  fellow,  however  bloody,  was  sin 
cere.)  "  Verily,  my  Daughter,  these  weak  and  self- 
seeking  people,  these  Acadians,  had  long  ago  yielded 
their  heavy  necks  to  the  English  yoke,  but  for  me!  " 

"  I  have  observed,  indeed,  Father,"  answered  Ma 
demoiselle,  sweetly  humouring  this  outburst,  "  that 
your  power  is  very  great  among  our  people." 

"  Not  my  power,  my  Daughter,  not  mine,"  he 
protested,  in  a  tone  somewhat  perfunctory,  "  but  the 
power  of  the  Cause  I  serve.  But  enough  of  myself, 
and  more  of  my  business  here!  These  cattle  are 
much  needed  by  our  garrison  at  Louisbourg.  I 
will  buy  them  of  you,  at  a  fair  price,  and  bring  or 
send  you  the  money  in  full  payment  within  one 
month  from  to-day." 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          401 

He  paused  for  a  reply,  but  Mademoiselle  was 
silent. 

"  You  will  have  the  beasts  driven  up  to  the  ford 
to-morrow,  about  this  hour,"  he  continued,  "  and 
there  I  will  give  your  man  a  written  acknowledg 
ment  of  receipt.  Why  do  you  not  reply,  my 
Daughter?" 

I  noticed  that  a  sharpness  was  creeping  into  his 
voice. 

"  It  is  not  altogether  easy  to  reply,  Father."  An 
swered  Mademoiselle  very  gently.  "  You  see,  there 
are  several  points  that  have  to  be  considered." 

"  For  instance !  "    His  words  were  curt  and  hard. 

"  Well,  Father,  for  one  thing  the  English  are  very 
anxious  to  purchase  these  same " 

But  she  was  cut  short.  "  Let  me  tell  you,  Jeanne 
de  Bonval,"  he  interrupted,  a  sudden  cold  fury  in 
his  voice,  "  though  the  English  were  to  give  you 
their  weight  in  silver  for  the  beasts,  you  would  find 
it  a  costly  bargain.  I  warn  you,  you  are  under 
suspicion  of  leaning  to  these  usurpers.  I  know  of 
your  merry-makings  last  winter,  your  dancings  and 
your  mummeries  with  the  enemies  of  your  church 
and  your  king.  You  are  watched,  girl.  If  you  let 
the  flatteries  of  vain  fools  mislead  you,  and  the  greed 
of  gold  tempt  you  to  sell  support  to  the  foes  of 
France  and  God,  then — your  fate  be  upon  your  own 
head!" 

I  ground  my  teeth  with  rage,  having  to  lie  silent 


402  A  House  Party 

and  let  his  insolence  go  unchastised.  But  My  Lady 
was  no  longer  meek. 

"  You  presume  too  far  upon  your  cloth,  Monsieur 
La  Game,"  she  said,  and  I  could  see  that  she  drew  up 
her  small  figure  right  haughtily.  "  And  I  must  beg 
you  to  remember  that  I  have  not  expressed  any  inten 
tion  of  trafficking  with  the  English.  As  for  my 
private  affairs  in  Halifax,  they  are  a  matter  between 
myself  and  my  own  Father  Confessor,  the  Cure  of 
Piziquid,  who  has,  I  believe,  the  respect  of  his 
brother  priests  and  the  confidence  of  his  bishop." 

This  was  a  sharp  thrust,  and  I  rubbed  my  hands 
over  it.  It  was  well  known  through  all  Acadia  that 
the  Bishop  of  Quebec  tolerated  La  Game  only  under 
urgent  persuasion  of  the  Governor  of  New  France. 

"  I  am  not  here  to  bandy  words  with  a  woman," 
said  La  Game.  "  Nor  do  I  care  to  resent  an  inso 
lence  toward  myself.  I  serve  France;  and  treason 
toward  her  I  will  punish.  Do  you  send  these  cattle 
to  the  upper  ford  to-morrow  ?  Or  do  you  sell  them 
to  the  English?" 

"  I  was  going  on  to  say,"  replied  Mademoiselle 
coldly,  "  that  you  ask  what  would  mean  our  ruin. 
You  know  the  law,  and  to  what  I  render  myself 
liable  if  I  am  detected  in  selling  supplies  to  the 
French  at  Louisbourg?" 

Now  La  Game  was  a  true  partisan.  He  promptly 
forgot  all  personal  consideration  in  his  zeal  to  se 
cure  an  advantage  to  his  cause. 

"  There  need  be  no  difficulty,"  he  cried.     "  You 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          403 

will  never  be  suspected.  At  this  distance  from  the 
fort  there  is  no  danger  of  your  being  seen,  none 
whatever.  You  are  too  timorous, — or  your  heart  as 
I  have  said,  is  with  the  English.  But  I  wish  you  no 
harm,  if  you  obey.  I  will  judge  you  by  your  works, 
and  leave  your  motives  to  your  own  conscience. 
Send  the  cattle  after  nightfall,  if  you  think  that 
safer.  I  will  wait  till  one  hour  after  moonrise." 

"  I  will  not  so  compromise  myself,  Monsieur  La 
Game/'  she  answered.  "  If  it  is  so  safe,  as  you  say, 
then  send  your  own  men  for  the  cattle,  at  the  first 
dark  and  take  them.  And  I  will  send  my  man 
Tamin  into  Piziquid  in  the  afternoon,  that  no  blame 
or  suspicion  may  rest  on  him.  The  English  are 
very  bitter  on  this  business  of  supplies  going  to 
Louisbourg,  and  they  wait  to  make  a  conspicuous 
example  of  some  one !  " 

"  Well "  assented  La  Game,  somewhat  impa 
tiently,  "  so  that  I  get  the  beasts,  I  am  content.  As 
well  here  as  at  the  ford,  if  it  suits  you  the  better  so. 
I  shall  come  myself.  Good-night !  " 

I  could  see  him  from  the  girdled  waist  to  the  feet. 
He  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode  toward  the  door. 

But,  boor  though  he  was,  Mademoiselle  did  not 
forget  her  courtesy  toward  his  calling. 

"  I  pray  you,  Father  stay  and  rest,  and  sup  with 
us !  "  she  said,  as  gently  as  if  this  interview  had  been 
all  sunshine. 

"  No,"  he  snapped.  "  I  have  a  duty  to  perform 
this  night  at  the  Forks  of  Piziquid. 


404  A  House  Party 

"  Is  it,  then,  as  urgent?  "  she  asked,  knowing  she 
might  safely  press,  he  being  obstinate. 

"  I  have  to  give  these  habitants  a  conspicuous  ex 
ample  "  he  answered  grimly.  "  There  is  one  fellow 
over  there  who  holds  that  the  English  are  the  true 
lords  of  Acadia,  and  entitled  to  his  allegiance.  He 
has  been  selling  barley  and  flax  to  the  Governor  at 
Halifax !  " 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Mademoiselle,  with  a  nicely  modu 
lated  reprobation  in  her  voice.  I  could  imagine  the 
subtle  play  of  eyes  and  mouth  that  accompanied  it. 
"  And  what  will  you  do  to  the  poor  wretch?  " 

11  Before  the  rising  of  to-morrow's  sun,  my 
Daughter,"  answered  the  priest,  with  slow  signifi 
cance,  "  his  house  will  be  ashes,  and  his  children 
homeless, — but  not  fatherless,  I  trust,  though  my 
wild  red  flock  are  sometimes  over  impetuous  in  their 
zeal,  and  apt  to  go  beyond  my  exact  instructions. 
Farewell,  Jeanne  de  Bonval ;  and  that  you  may  fare 
well,  remember !  " 

The  door  closed  smartly  behind  him,  and  Ma 
demoiselle  stood  silent  for  a  long  time,  watching 
from  the  window  to  be  sure  of  his  departure.  At 
last  she  gave  a  little  exclamation  of  relief.  She 
came  to  the  closet;  I  heard  the  key  turn;  the  door 
opened.  I  caught  the  hem  of  her  skirt  and  pressed 
it  to  my  lips. 

She  drew  back  instantly  beyond  my  reach.  There 
was  that  in  her  small,  determined  face  which  for 
bade  my  wooing. 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          405 

"  You  heard  what  he  said,  Monsieur?  "  she  asked. 

"  Every  word,  I  think,"  said  I. 

"  And,  of  course,  that  is  sufficient  answer  to  the 
request  of  your  Governor!  You  will  acquit  me  of 
disloyalty,  I  think,  if  my  good  beasts  find  their  way 
to  Louisbourg  instead  of  Halifax !  " 

"  I  will  answer  for  your  loyalty  with  my  life, 
whatever  happens,"  I  cried  fervently.  Then,  with  a 
violent  effort,  I  remembered  my  duty  to  the  Gover 
nor.  "  But — oh,  this  business! — why  cannot  I  come 
to-morrow  and  take  the  cattle  by  force,  paying  you 
afterwards  ?  " 

She  laughed  as  if  she  really  enjoyed  my  predica 
ment. 

"  That  would  be  oppression,  sheer  tyranny !  "  she 
retorted.  "  You  know  you  dare  not  do  it, — because 
you  dare  not  explain  to  the  Acadians!  It  would 
undo  the  forbearance  of  all  these  years,  and  drive 
them  by  thousands  back  into  the  arms  of  France! 
Think  what  the  amiable  La  Game  would  make  of 
it!" 

"  But  if  you  sell  them  to  Louisbourg,  I  have  the 
right  to  confiscate  them,  have  I  not?  None  could 
complain  of  that,"  I  persisted. 

"  And  how  are  you  supposed  to  know  ?  And  af 
ter,  how  escape  confiscating  all  my  possessions?  It 
seems,  I  am  between  the  upper  and  the  nether  mill 
stone,  Monsieur,"  she  answered  mockingly. 

"  Stay,  I  have  a  plan, — one  that  will  fully  protect 
you,"  said  I,  thinking  as  swiftly  and  lucidly  as  I 


406  A  House  Party 

could  with  those  bewildering  eyes  searching  my  face. 
"  And  I  can  make  it  all  right  with  the  Governor." 

Her  face  grew  grave;  and  I  realised  with  a  very 
inward  storm  of  love  and  wonder,  the  weight  of  the 
responsibilities  which  this  lonely  girl  was  carrying 
under  so  brave  and  gay  a  guise. 

'  You  appreciate  the  ruin  that  hangs  over  us, 
Monsieur?"  she  asked.  "You  are  sure,  beyond  a 
doubt,  that  it  will  not  lay  us  open  to  the  fate  you 
know  of  ?  " 

"  It  is  perfectly  safe,"  I  answered  triumphantly. 
"  Not  a  soul  can  even  suspect  except  the  Governor, 
and  he  will  know  all  about  it !  Just  at  dark  to-mor 
row  night,  was  it  not,  that  scoundrel  said  he  would 
come  and  get  the  cattle  ?  " 

"  Just  at  dark.  And  he  is  a  man  of  his  word," 
she  added,  significantly. 

"  It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  I  ex 
claimed.  "  But — perhaps  I  had  better  not  tell  it  to 
you!" 

"  The  priest  must  not  be  harmed,  Monsieur,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice.  "  And  he  must  not  be  captured. 
You  must  not  touch  me  with  any  taint  of 
treachery !  " 

"  You  can  trust  me  surely  for  that !  "  said  I. 
"  Your  honour  is  more  dear  to  me  than  life."  And 
then  it  came  over  me,  just  how  deeply  and  fully  she 
was  trusting  me, — trusting  me  blindly,  when  every 
thing  she  had,  and  her  mother's  life,  and  her  own, 
were  at  stake.  She  must  have  seen  in  my  eyes  the 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          407 

irresistible  flood  of  love  and  longing  that  surged 
up  in  my  heart,  for  she  took  two  or  three  steps 
toward  the  door. 

"  Oh,  Jeanne,"  I  cried  out,  "  Beloved  one,  you 
know  how  long  I  have  loved  you.  You  know  how 
I  worship  you.  Let  me  protect  you.  Give  me  the 
right  to  protect  you,  to  protect  and  care  for  your 
mother,  to  shelter  you  from  all  these  fears  and 
perils/' 

But  she  was  merciless !  She  was  rightly  sure  of 
me,  so,  womanlike,  she  could  not  but  play  with  me ! 
There  was  no  severity,  but  the  old  mockery,  in  her 
eyes,  as  she  withdrew  to  a  yet  safer  distance. 

"  But  why  should  I  need  protection,  Monsieur," 
she  asked,  wilfully.  "  Have  you  not  assured  me  that 
your  plan  is  perfect, — and  have  I  not  believed  you?  " 

I  was  at  her  side  before  she  could  reach  the  door. 
But 

"  Here  is  Annette  coming,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
timely  strategy,  "  to  tell  us  that  supper  is  served 
and  that  my  mother  awaits  you !  "  And  she  laughed 
into  my  eyes,  with  daring  little  face  upturned.  It 
was,  indeed,  an  inauspicious  moment  for  my  wooing, 
— for  the  door  opened.  I  could  have  killed  Annette, 
— yet  as  I  followed  My  Lady  to  the  supper  room  I 
was  not  really  vexed  at  any  one  in  the  whole  wide 
world,  not  even  at  La  Game. 

At  supper  and  after,  I  had  no  word  more  alone 
with  Mademoiselle.  I  devoted  myself  to  the  not 
uncongenial  duty  of  making  myself  persona  grata 


40 8  A  House  Party 

to  Madame  de  Bonval,  a  wizened  little  invalid 
who  leaned  like  a  child  upon  her  daughter's  judg 
ment  in  all  things.  The  old  lady  was  very  gracious 
to  me, — but  she  was  present,  and  obviously  for  the 
evening;  and  though  half  blind,  she  was  very  far 
from  deaf.  When  I  could  not  in  decency  prolong  my 
stay  by  so  much  as  another  minute,  I  made  my 
adieux, — and  My  Lady  met  my  adoring  look  with 
laughter  in  the  green  deeps  of  her  eyes.  Her  lips, — • 
very  subtly  both  allured  and  denied,  by  the  smile 
on  their  distracting  curves;  and  I  went  away  in  a 
madness  that  made  that  ride  back  to  Piziquid  in  the 
moonlight,  beside  the  gleaming  current  of  the  St. 
Croix,  seem  swifter  and  more  elusive  than  music 
heard  in  dreams. 

Being  arrived  at  the  fort,  on  its  fair  green  hill 
overlooking  the  junction  of  the  Piziquid  and  the  St. 
Croix,  I  pulled  myself  out  of  my  dreams  and  sought 
an  interview  with  the  Commandant.  Armed  as  I 
was  with  the  Governor's  authority  to  levy  upon  the 
garrison  for  such  help  as  I  should  need,  it  was  not 
incumbent  upon  me  to  lay  bare  the  whole  matter ;  but 
I  told  the  Commandant  enough  to  satisfy  him,  and 
he  entered  into  the  business  with  right  good  will. 
Of  Mademoiselle's  very  delicate  and  dangerous  part 
in  it  I  told  him  not  at  all.  Being  a  coarse-grained 
fellow,  his  attempted  civilities  had  met  with  a  some 
what  chilly  reception  at  the  de  Bonval  manor;  and 
I  fancied  that  he  was  not  ill-pleased  to  think  that 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          409 

the  matter  promised  some  danger  to  the  haughty 
little  lady  who  had  so  effectually  discouraged  him. 

Early  the  following  morning,  when  the  tide  was 
at  flood,  I  took  twenty  men,  and  had  some  fisher 
men  of  the  village  row  us  over  to  the  east  shore  of 
the  St.  Croix.  This  made  it  tolerably  safe  that  none 
should  guess  our  destination.  I  marched  them  up 
the  river,  but  far  back  from  the  valley,  out  of  sight 
and  earshot;  and  we  lay  some  hours  about  midday 
in  the  thick  woods  surrounding  the  Upper  Ford. 
In  the  afternoon  we  crossed  the  stream,  and  moved 
cautiously  down  till  we  were  within  view  of  the 
manor-house,  taking  advantage  of  every  grove  and 
thicket,  and  crawling  on  our  bellies  through  the 
grass  whenever  obliged  to  cross  the  open.  This 
method  of  travel  was  most  exceeding  irksome  to 
my  men,  a  fact  which  I  noted  with  satisfaction.  I 
had,  indeed,  been  at  pains  to  choose  men  but  lately 
out  from  England,  men  not  yet  experienced  in  the 
subtleties  of  border  warfare,  who  would  not  think 
the  matter  had  been  bungled  if  there  chanced  to  be 
no  shooting.  I  was  resolved  that  Mademoiselle 
should  have  nothing  on  her  conscience  through  any 
heedlessness  of  mine;  but  had  I  brought  with  me 
certain  border  veterans  whom  I  had  noted  at  the 
fort, — Indian  fighters,  Indian  haters, — I  should 
have  been  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  the  de  Bonval 
threshold  clean  of  blood. 

A  little  back  from  the  road,  and  commanding  a 


410  A  House  Party 

clear  view  of  all  approaches  to  the  manor-house, 
there  was  a  thicket  of  blackberry  canes  and  tangled 
clematis  in  the  centre  of  a  sloping  buckwheat  field. 
Into  the  heart  of  this  thicket,  slowly,  stealthily  as 
lizards,  we  wormed  our  way,  and,  at  length,  lay 
hidden  beyond  suspicion  of  friend  or  foe. 

It  was  pleasant  waiting  in  the  blackberry  thicket, 
the  golden  sun  of  late  summer  sifting  through  the 
leaves,  sweet  with  wholesome  country  smells.  A 
few  late-flowering  weeds  amid  the  tangle  drew  about 
us  the  music  of  foraging  bees.  The  men  were  highly 
content,  some  dozing,  some  smoking,  some  dream 
ing  of  far-off  sweethearts.  I  lay  and  peered  through 
the  stems,  looking  down  upon  the  house  that  held  my 
love.  I  saw  old  Tamin  go  and  gather  all  the  red 
cattle,  from  end  to  end  of  the  meadows.  Some  half 
score, — cows  and  young  heifers  I  guessed, — he 
drove  to  another  pasture,  back  of  the  barns.  The 
rest  he  herded  into  a  small  enclosure  near  the  house, 
handy  for  purchase  or  for  pillage.  Then  he  bent 
his  steps  toward  Piziquid,  and  disappeared  beyond 
the  furthest  winding  of  the  way.  At  last,  just  be 
fore  sundown,  my  eyes  were  greatly  favoured.  I 
saw  My  Lady, — so  slight  and  precious  a  figure  in  her 
little  cream-white  gown  and  blue  bodice, — come 
forth  into  the  barnyard  with  a  basket  on  her  arm 
and  the  white  cat  following  at  her  skirt.  With  noisy 
cacklings  the  fowls  scurried  from  every  side  to 
throng  about  her.  The  sounds  came  to  us  very 
clearly.  Four  white  doves,  also  flew  down  from  a 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          411 

gable,  circled,  and  alighted  on  her  shoulders.  She 
threw  grain  in  handfuls  among  the  fowls,  and  gave 
some  special  dainty  from  her  pocket  to  the  doves, 
who  crowded  each  other  for  the  privilege  of  getting 
close  against  her  face.  At  length  she  shook  out 
the  last  grains  from  the  basket,  and  moved  slowly 
back  to  the  house.  As  she  neared  the  door  the 
doves  suddenly  flew  away,  and  dropped  among  the 
fowls  to  secure  their  portion  of  the  grain. 

As  the  dusk  began  to  gather, — first  rosy  golden, 
then  lilac,  then  brown-purple, — I  set  watches  at  each 
corner  of  our  thicket.  When  it  was  as  dark  as  it  was 
like  to  be, — the  sky  clear,  moonrise  not  far  off,  and 
no  mist  obscuring  the  crisp  air, — the  suspense  began 
to  grew  keen. 

Presently  I  saw  a  line  of  skulking  shadows  steal 
ing  down  the  road,  a  tall  straight  figure  marching 
fearlessly  at  their  head.  As  they  neared  the  house 
their  leader, — La  Game,  plain  enough, — left  them 
and  went  up  to  the  door,  while  his  followers  glided 
toward  the  enclosure  holding  the  cattle.  Soon  there 
was  a  commotion  in  the  herd.  Then  some  bars  were 
let  down,  clattering  sharply.  Then  the  door  of  the 
manor-house  closed  with  a  bang,  and  lights  ap 
peared  in  the  windows  of  the  big  reception  room. 
The  time  for  action  had  come. 

"  Remember,  men,"  said  I,  "  there's  to  be  no 
shooting.  In  the  dusk  some  innocent  folk  of  the 
household  might  be  hit.  The  cold  steel's  the  medi 
cine  for  these  red  rascals.  Now,  silence.' ' 


412  A  House  Party 

The  men  were  delighted.  They  knew  right  well 
that  marksmanship  especially  when  the  target  was  a 
drifting  shadow  among  shadows,  was  not  their 
forte.  But  the  steel  they  could  handle, — and  in  their 
innocence  they  expected  to  get  close  enough  to  an 
Indian  to  try  its  effect  upon  him! 

Noiselessly  I  led  them  down  to  the  road,  that  it 
might  seem  to  La  Game  we  had  been  following  on 
his  trail.  As  we  gained  it,  the  cattle  came  pushing 
out  of  the  enclosure.  Still  crouching  low,  and  step 
ping  softly,  we  ran  along  the  soft  grass  by  the  road 
side,  and  I  began  to  fear  lest  we  should  actually  come 
hand  to  hand  with  the  savages,  so  busy  and  so  care 
less  did  they  seem.  But  just  as  I  was  thinking  how 
best  to  give  the  alarm  there  was  a  flash  from  the 
lilac  hedge,  a  musket  shot  rang  out,  and  a  ball  sang 
low  over  my  head.  That  was  all  right,  but  it  would 
not  do  to  wait  for  more  such  messages.  "  Charge  " ! 
I  shouted,  and  we  bore  down  upon  them  at  full 
run. 

But  the  gliding  figures  melted  away  before  us. 
No  more  shots  were  fired.  No  one  stood  to  test  my 
men's  cold  steel.  The  men  were  amazed.  Then  a 
pale  light  began  to  spread  over  the  landscape.  The 
moon  was  rising. 

"  Post  sentries,  Cunliffe,"  I  said  to  my  sergeant, 
"  and  keep  a  sharp  lookout.  You  never  know  what 
these  devils  are  up  to !  "  Then  with  an  orderly  at 
my  heels,  I  went  up  to  the  door  of  the  manor-house 
and  knocked  imperatively.  The  door  was  opened 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          413 

promptly  by  Annette,  who  was  doubtless  much 
astonished  when  I  pushed  past  her  and  presented  my 
self  unannounced  in  the  reception  room. 

Mademoiselle  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
awaiting  me.  How  beautiful  she  looked.  Her  eyes 
were  like  stars,  and  the  old  mocking  smile  curved 
her  lips, — but  her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  behind 
the  play  I  felt  a  terrible  anxiety.  It  was  hard  to 
remember  my  part.  I  longed  to  throw  myself  at 
her  feet.  But  I  held  my  head  high,  and  eyed  her 
austerely. 

"  You  are  welcome,  Monsieur,"  she  said, — and  at 
the  same  time  she  cast  a  meaning  glance  at  the  door 
of  the  closet  which  yesterday  had  been  my  hiding 
place.  Instantly  I  realised  that  La  Game  was  there. 
The  situation  was  absolutely  theatrical,  and  for  one 
brief  second  my  thought  flashed  back  to  London 
nights  and  the  footlights  of  Drury  Lane.  Then  I 
took  my  cue. 

"  I  fear  I  must  seem  uncivil,  Mademoiselle  de 
Bonval,"  said  I,  bowing  low  but  ignoring  her  out 
stretched  hand.  "  But  perhaps  you  can  explain !  " 

"What  do  you  mean,  Monsieur?"  she  asked  in 
surprise.  "  Is  it  not  rather  I  who  need  an  explan 
ation?  I  hear  muskets  at  this  quiet  place, — and 
English  cheers, — and  a  great  trampling  of  feet. 
And  then  you  rush  in  upon  me,  and  look — so 
strange !  " 

"  Mademioselle,"  said  I  firmly,  "  believe  me,  noth 
ing  is  further  from  my  wish  than  that  you  should  be 


4i 4  A  House  Party 

found  a  trespasser  against  our  very  necessary  laws. 
But  the  case  looks  bad.  Yesterday  you  refused  to 
sell  me  your  cattle,  which  are  much  needed  by  our 
soldiers  at  Halifax,  though  I  offered  a  handsome 
price  for  them.  And  I  cannot  say  your  reasons 
quite  contented  me.  To-night,  while  following  the 
trail  of  some  of  those  pestilent  savages  who,  under 
that  frocked  scoundrel  La  Game,  make  so  much 
trouble  for  us  in  Acadia,  I  find  that  their  destination 
is  the  manor-house  of  Bonval.  I  catch  them  in  the 
act  of  driving  off,  openly,  the  very  cattle  which  you 
so  inexplicably  refused  to  sell  to  me.  Of  course,  I 
understand  quite  well  that  La  Game  and  his  red 
minions  are  but  the  tools  of  Louisbourg.  You  know 
the  penalty,  Mademoiselle,  for  selling  supplies  to 
Louisbourg?  " 

Such  words  to  her !  I  felt  as  if  they  blistered  my 
mouth.  But  she  gave  me  a  swift  commending 
glance,  then  drew  herself  up  with  fine  scorn. 

"  And  so,  Monsieur,"  she  exclaimed  witheringly, 
"  you  would  impeach  me  for  treason,  because  I  am 
robbed  of  my  goods.  Because  the  Indians  come  by 
night  and  steal  my  cattle,  you  would  confiscate  my 
estate,  and  exile  me  from  my  native  land.  Is  this 
English  justice?  If  so,  it  will  no  doubt  commend 
itself  to  the  people  of  Acadia!" 

"  But  yesterday,"  I  replied,  in  the  voice  of  a 
judge,  "  these  cattle  were  roaming1  the  marshes. 
To-night  I  find  them  shut  up  in  a  paddock  by  the 
house,  most  convenient  for  a  purchaser." 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          415 

"  As  for  that,  it  is  the  business  of  my  overseer  " 
she  answered  carelessly.  "  How  should  I  know 
why  at  times  he  leaves  them  loose,  and  at  times 
drives  them  at  night  into  the  paddock.  Perhaps 
he  is  going  to  mark  them,  who  knows.  He  is  to 
night  at  Piziquid;  but  when  he  returns  he  will  be 
able  to  satisfy  you." 

"  I  am  most  glad,  Mademoiselle,  that  you  have 
a  defense  so  plausible,"  said  I  gravely.  "  It  is  not 
ior  me,  however,  to  say  whether  the  Governor  will 
hold  it  sufficient,  or  not.  I  earnestly  hope  he  may. 
My  own  present  duty  is  clear.  I  will  take  these 
cattle,  which  were  about  to  go  to  our  enemies.  They 
are  contraband  of  war,  fairly.  But  I  will  give  you  a 
receipt  for  them;  and  if  they  are  unlawfully  taken, 
without  doubt  you  will  be  more  than  compensated 
for  the  injury.  The  Acadians  shall  have  no  cause 
to  complain  of  English  justice;  but  they  must  not 
DC  allowed  to  think  that  English  forbearance  is  mere 
childish  credulity,  to  be  imposed  upon  at  every  turn." 

To  my  surprise,  Mademoiselle's  tone  became  sud 
denly  quite  gracious. 

"  I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude  Monsieur,"  she 
cried  gaily,  "  even  though  you  have  been  so  rude 
and  suspicious.  There  are  paper  and  pens.  Please 
write  out  the  receipt."  And  she  motioned  me  to  an 
open  escritoire. 

"  Gratitude?  "  I  asked.  "  And  for  what,  pray?  " 
Mindful  of  her  anxiety,  I  kept  my  voice  stern  and 
unrelenting. 


4i 6  A  House  Party 

"  You  have  saved  my  cattle  from  the  thieving  In 
dians,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  know  the  Governor  will 
compensate  me,  will  pay  me  my  full  price  for  them, 
when  I  explain  the  circumstances  to  him." 

"  You  are  sanguine "  said  I,  handing  her  the 
paper.  "  I  trust  you  may  not  be  disappointed.  And 
now,  I  have  the  honour  to  wish  you  good  night, 
and  to  hope  that  I  have  not  incommoded  you  by  this 
abrupt  incursion !  " 

As  I  bent  low  over  her  hand  I  turned  her  so  that 
she  stood  exactly  between  me  and  the  cupboard  door, 
where  I  knew  that  a  pair  of  lynx  eyes  watched  us 
piercingly.  Then  I  pressed  my  lips  passionately  to 
the  fingers,  and  whispered  "  To-morrow,  my  love, 
my  Heart,  I  shall  come  again,  and  implore  an  an 
swer  of  thee." 

But  to  my  surprise  she  followed  me  to  the  door, 
and  into  the  hallway,  beyond  scope  of  the  lynx- 
eyes  in  the  cupboard.  I  saw  that  her  face  was  white 
now,  the  gaiety,  the  mockery,  all  gone.  Her  lips 
trembled  like  a  child's.  I  would  have  snatched  her 
to  my  heart, — but  Annette  stood  there,  watching  me 
with  disapproval,  waiting  to  open  the  door. 

"  Till  to-morrow,  then,"  I  murmured,  again 
lifting  her  hand  to  my  lips.  But  this  time  her  little 
fingers  clung.  My  heart  thrilled  and  leaped  wildly. 

"  Don't  go,"  she  panted,  almost  with  a  sob.  "  I 
am  afraid.  After  you  go,  they  will  come  back.  He 
suspects.  He  sees  through  it  all, — I  know  he  does. 
He  is  so  cunning.  Oh — I  think  I  do  need  your 


The  Red  Oxen  of  Bonval          417 

protection.  You  may  protect — my  mother !  "  And 
she  lifted  her  face  to  me  suddenly,  tears  were  in  her 
eyes,  but  a  smile  upon  her  mouth. 

"  Beloved!  "  said  I,  and  gathered  her  to  my  heart. 
"  My  Lady !  My  Beautiful  Own !  "  And  as  I  kissed 
her,  I  had  a  vision  of  Annette,  silently  and  discreetly 
removing  herself  from  the  scene.  A  moment  more 
and  My  Lady  untwined  my  arms,  and  placed  them 
firmly,  decisively,  at  my  sides.  She  put  both  her 
hands  behind  my  neck,  pulled  down  my  head,  and 
kissed  me  on  both  eyes.  Then  she  sprang  back  be 
yond  my  reach,  and  laughed  as  if  she  had  not  a  care 
in  the  world.  How  bright,  indeed,  did  this  same  old 
worn  world  look!  I  laughed  too,  in  sheer  joy.  Then 
I  thought  of  the  prisoner  in  the  closet. 

"What  wilt  thou  do  with  him,  My  Lady?"  I 
whispered. 

She  came  back,  into  my  arms,  that  she  might  the 
more  conveniently  reply. 

"  I  will  get  him  away  safe  in  the  night/'  she 
whispered,  "  If  you  will  remove  the  sentry  from  the 
kitchen  entrance."  I  nodded  my  head.  "  But  first, 
as  the  price  of  his  freedom,  I  will  make  him  swear 
that  de  Bonval  shall  not  be  harmed.  He  lays  so 
many  traps  for  others,  it  is  time  he  felt  a  little  pinch 
himself.  And  he  will  keep  his  oath." 

As  the  story  teller  ended,  Mrs.  Goddard  made  a 
sign  to  her  husband,  who  obediently  reached  out 
and  touched  a  bell,  even  as  the  tall  clock  began 
striking  the  midnight  hour.  Before  the  last  stroke 


4i 8  A  House  Party 

had  sounded,  the  door  was  opened  and  two  tray- 
laden  servants  entered.  At  once  the  group  about  the 
fireplace  dissolved,  and  after  due  poppings  of  soda 
bottles,  and  glug-glugings  of  the  decanters,  every 
one  was  furnished  with  the  nightcap  of  his  or  her 
whim.  While  the  drinks  were  being  chatted  and 
laughed  over,  suddenly  a  loud  exclamation  from  one 
side  of  the  room  made  every  one  turn  to  see  its 
cause. 

"Peoples!"  excitedly  cried  the  last  story  teller, 
now  standing  between  the  curtains  of  a  window, 
"  The  moon  and  stars  are  shining!  " 

Drinks  forgotten,  there  was  a  mad  rush  to  every 
window  in  the  room,  and  then  a  shout  of  joy  from 
all  sides. 

The  old  general  alone  had  not  stirred,  and  he 
stood,  glass  in  hand,  close  to  the  long  awaited  trays. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  to  wonder  at,"  he  mut 
tered,  "  for  I'll  venture  to  say  that  if  Noah  could 
have  got  hold  of  twelve  equally  dry  stories,  he  need 
never  have  taken  the  trouble  to  build  the  ark." 


THE  END 


A   Romance   of  the   Iowa   Wheat  Fields. 

THE  ROAD  TO  RIDGEBY'S. 

BY  FRANK  BURLINGAME  HARRIS. 

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A  simple  but  powerful  story  of  farm  life  in  the  great  West,  which 
cannot  fail  to  make  a  lasting  impression  on  every  reader.  In  this 
book  Mr.  Harris  has  done  for  the  wheat  fields  what  Mr.  West- 
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Harris  has  taken  for  his  story  a  typical  Iowa  farmer's  family  and 
their  neighbours;  and,  although  every  one  of  the  characters  is  real 
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"One  has  but  to  read  the  book  to  realize  what  a  loss  was  sustained  in  his 
death.  The  morbidness  of  approaching  death  has  not  entered  into  the  story 
in  any  way.  It  is  strong,  healthy,  normal.  It  appeals  to  the  best  emotions 
in  its*  kindly  human  interest,  and  mingles  genial  homely  humor  with  its 
pathos." — si.  Louis  Globe-Demo  -rat. 

"  Contrasting  it  with  the  work  of  the  others  who  have  wrought  in  the  Iowa 
vineyard,  cue  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  The  Road  to  Hidgehy's  lies 
nearest  the  truth,  and  is,  consequently,  the  best  art.  I  do  nut  laud  The 
Road  to  Ridgeby's  above  Main  Travelled  fioatts  simply  because  it  is  a 
pleasanter  road.  It  is  simply  and  unmistakably  the  truer,  the  more  natural, 
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it  has  it»  lights  also.  Mr.  Harris  gives  us  both."— The  Mirror  (St.  Louis). 

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The  Outlook. 

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until  old  Ridgeby's  struggles  are  ended  and  Sibley  finds  her  reward,  one 
is  held  as  children  are  when  they  listen  to  some  old  fairy  story." — Chicago 
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APHRODITE 

The  ROMANCE  of  a  SCULPTOR'S  MASTERPIECE 

By  FRANKLIN  KENT  GIFFORD 

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SYLVIA: 

The  STORY  of  an  AMERICAN  COUNTESS 

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ALBERT  D.  BLASHFIELD,  CARLE  J.  BLENNER,  J.  WELLS  CHAMPNEY, 
HOWARD  CHANDLER  CHRISTY,  LOUISE  Cox,  JOSEPH  DK  CAMP, 
JOHN  ELLIOTT,  C.  ALLAN  GILBERT,  ALBERT  HERTER,  HENRY 
HUIT,  ALICE  BARBER  STEPHENS,  A.  B.  WENZELL 

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An    Indian    "Tom     Brown    at    Rugby." 

THE  MIDDLE  FIVE 

Indian  Boys  at  School. 

BY   FRANCIS    LA   FLESCHE. 

With  a  colored  frontispiece  and  a  cover  decoration  by  Angel  de 
Cora.     I2mo,cloth.  $1.25 

The  author  of  this  book  is  a  full-blooded  Omaha  Indian,  a  gradu, 
ate  of  the  National  University  Law  School  at  Washington  and 
a  fellow  of  the  American  Association  for  the  Advancement  of 
Science,  now  holding  a  responsible  position  in  the  Indian  Bureau 
at  Washington.  He  has  written  in  this  volume  a  remarkable 
series  of  sketches  of  the  life  of  young  Indians  in  a  mission  school 
established  in  1857  by  the  Presbyterian  Church  on  the  eastern 
boundary  of  the  Omaha  reservation.  The  volume  is  largely 
reminiscent  of  the  author's  own  school-days,  and  Mr.  La  Flesche 
announces  that  the  object  of  his  book  is  to  reveal  the  true  nature 
and  character  of  the  Indian  boy. 

"  A  book  as  new  as  can  be,  echoing  nothing  whatever,  dealing  with  a  phase 
of  life  that  nobody  else  has  dealt  with,  .  .  .  valuable  because  it  is  simple,  direct, 
honest,  and  at  the  same  time  picturesque,  and  because  it  deals  with  a  big 
and  bitter  question,— the  question  how  the  American  Indian  is  to  pass  from 
his  state  of  original  freedom  to  that  of  subservience  to  the  requirements  of 
European  civilization  in  its  American  expression."—  Boston  Transcript. 

*'  Any  boy  worthy  of  the  name  must  delight  in  it." — Rebecca  Handing  Davis. 

•'To  the  thoughtful  reader  these  sketches  possess  a  psychological  interest 
which  cannot  be  described.  The  book  must  needs  be  read  to  be  understood." 
Springfield  Union. 

"  A  story  that  deserves  a  place  among  classics  for  children."—  Chicago  Post. 

"  There  is  in  this  book  a  double  interest,  that  of  the  text,  which  is  full  of  inter- 
est,  and  al-<o  the  fact  that  we  are  receiving  Indian  literature  and  Indian 
thought  from  an  educated  mind  which  yet  cherishes  with  pride  all  the  tradi 
tions  and  incentive-*  of  his  people.  The  stories  are  told  in  the  most  simple 
words,  tersely  and  yet  elegantly  and  pointedly."—  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  Deserves  the  attention  of  all  who  care  to  know  more  of  the  red  men  of 
America." —  £an  Francisco  Argonaut. 

"A  veritable  storehouse  of  delight  for  boys  of  all  sizes  and  of  every  class. 
Nor  will  the  enjoyment  of  the  book  be  confined  to  the  youthful  members  of 
the  family."—  Southern  Workman. 

"  Should  be  in  every  boy's  library."—  Brighton  (Eng.)  Herald. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  by  the  publishers  on  receipt  of  price. 

Small,  Maynard  &  Company, 


A   Great  American   Novel    of    the    Civil   War. 

THE  GRAPES  OF  WRATH. 

A  Tale  of  North  and  South. 

BY  MARY  HARRIOTT  NORRIS, 

Author  of  The  Gray  House  of  the  Quarries,  etc. 

f2mo,  cloth,  decorative,  with  six  full-page  illustrations 

by  H.  T.  CARPENTER.  $1.50 

A  really  great  American  novel  of  the  Civil  War,  which  will  appeal 
with  equal  force  to-day  to  the  Southern  as  well  as  to  the  Northern 
reader.  The  title  is,  of  course,  suggested  by  Mrs.  Howe's  line, — 

"  He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath  are  stored." 
The  story  is  developed  from  the  fortunes,  amid  the  vicissitudes  of 
war,  of  an  old  New  Jersey  family,  one  son  of  which  had  settled  in 
Virginia,  becoming  a  general  in  Lee's  army.  There  is  little  fight 
ing  and  no  cheap  heroics  in  the  book,  but  it  gives  a  clearer  picture 
and  a  more  intimate  and  impressive  understanding  of  what  the 
great  struggle  really  meant  to  Unionist  and  to  Confederate  alike 
than  many  a  military  history. 

"The  story  is  an  unusually  powerful  one.  Apart  from  the  broad  opportu 
nities  given  to  interpret  history,  there  is  admirable  development  of  character 
shown  throughout  the  book  ;  and  the  romance  element  is  well  handled.  The 
book  is  impressive  and  artistic."—  The  Dial. 

"  It  will  take  its  place  forthwith  among  the  best  of  novels  dealing  with  the 
Civil  War.  In  breadth  of  sympathy,  it  may  be  said  to  surpass  them  all."— 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"A  notably  good  novel  of  the  Civil  "War  period,— in  some  respects  one  of 
the  best  One  of  the  most  striking  pictures  in  the  book  is  the  description  of 
the  battle  of  the  Wilderness,  and  of  equal  merit  are  the  scenes  in  Richmond 
before  the  surrender,  the  night  of  pillage  by  the  mob,  and  the  gathering  of 
p  umiering  negroes  in  the  abandoned  mine  in  the  wilderness.  Its  minor 
errors  may  well  be  overlooked  in  th«  interest  of  the  book  and  the  sympathy 
and  fairness  with  which  it  is  written."— Louisville  Courier  Journal. 

"  The  story  as  a  whole  is  highly  dramatic  and  well  sustained.  It  is  full  of 
spirit,  life,  and  verisimilitude,  and  the  difference  between  the  point  of  view 
in  small  matters  Noith  and  South  gives  life  and  piquancy  to  the  whole." — 
The  Outlook. 

11 A  vital,  interesting,  and  well-written  story.  A  book  well  worth  reading."— 
Chicago  News. 

"The  war  scenes  are  well  handled.  Miss  Norris  sees  whole  battlefields  with 
excellent  fulness  of  imaginative  power." — St.  Paul  Despatch. 

11 A  novel  to  which  high  praise  must  be  accorded.  In  its  picture  of  what  the 
war  meant  to  women,  it  is  a  powerful  and  tragic  story,  quite  as  worthy  of 
a  large  circle  of  leaders  as  The  Crisis."— Springfield  Republican. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  by  the  publishers  on  receipt  of  price. 

Small,  Maynard  &  Company, 


As     Curious    and    as     Novel    as    its    Title. 

ANTING  -  ANTING  STORIES, 

And  Other  Strange  Tales  of  the  Filipinos. 

BY  SARGENT  KAYME. 

With  cover  design  by  WILLIAM  MATHER  CROCKER. 
I2mo,  cloth.  $1.25 

The  sub-title  to  this  volume  gives  a  suggestion  of  the  nature  of 
the  stories  of  which  it  is  composed,  but  no  title  can  give  an  ade 
quate  idea  of  their  wonderful  variety  and  charm.  It  is  hardly 
exaggeration  to  say  that  Mr.  Kayme's  treatment  of  the  life  of 
the  Filipinos  opens  to  our  literature  a  new  field,  almost  as  fresh 
and  as  original  as  did  Mr.  Kipling's  Indian  Stories  when  they 
first  appeared.  Like  Mr.  Kipling,  he  shows  his  perfect  familiarity 
with  the  country  and  people  he  describes ;  and  he  knows  how  to 
tell  a  good  story  straight  away  and  simply  without  any  sacrifice 
of  dramatic  effect  or  power. 

The  curious  title  to  the  volume  furnishes  the  motive  for  some  of 
the  most  striking  of  the  stories.  Anting- Anting  is  a  Filipino  word, 
used  to  denote  anything  worn  as  an  amulet,  with  a  supposed  power 
to  protect  the  life  of  the  wearer.  Often  a  thing  of  no  intrinsic  value, 
the  belief  in  its  efficacy  is  yet  so  real  that  its  owner  often  braves 
death  with  a  confidence  so  sublime  as  to  command  admiration,  if 
not  respect. 

"As  stories  they  are  excellent  in  themselves,  but  they  are  eren  more  valuable 
as  an  exposition  of  the  peculiarities  and  actualities  of  life  among  the  Fili 
pinos."— Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  tales  are  told  with  exceptional  dramatic  power  and  picturesqueness." — 
Buffalo  Express. 

11  Mr.  Kayme  knows  his  Filipino.  He  has  written  well,  and  the  collection  of 
stories  is  of  more  than  ordinary  interest."— Louisville  Courier  Journal. 

"  There  are  eleven  stories  in  all,  and  he  who  reads  one  will  want  to  read  all 
the  others."— Knoxville  Sentinel. 

'They  are  of  more  importance  to  the  American  reader  than  any  story  of 
Rajput  or  Manchurian,  Japanese  or  Afghan,  or  any  other  race  as  to  which 
he  has  no  responsibility.  It  is  his  business  to  know  the  Filipino,  and  lie  is 
fortunate  in  the  form  in  which  the  knowledge  is  presented  to  him."— Boston 
Journal. 

"  The  book  is  potent  with  promise  of  the  riches  of  material  lying  loose  within 
the  Philippine  Islands  and  awaiting  the  story-tellers.  The  sketches  in  this 
volume  are  well  handled  and  rich  in  suggestion." — The  Outlook. 

"They  bring  the  people  and  places  before  us  as  no  mere  description  could 
possibly  do.  —  Chicago  Daily  A'ews. 

For  sale   by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  by  the  publishers  on  receipt  of  price. 

Small,  Maynard  &  Company, 


An     Irish     Love     Story     of     1848. 

MONONIA. 

BY  JUSTIN  MCCARTHY,  M.P., 

Author  of  A  History  of  Our  Own  Times^  Dear  Lady  Disdain,  etc. 
I2mo,  green  cloth  and  gold.  $1.50 

Mr.  McCarthy  has  written  several  successful  novels;  but  none, 
perhaps,  will  have  greater  interest  for  his  American  readers  than 
this  volume,  in  which  he  writes  reminiscently  of  the  Ireland  of 
his  youth  and  the  stirring  events  which  marked  that  period. 
It  is  pre-eminently  an  old-fashioned  novel,  befitting  the  times  which 
it  describes,  and  written  with  the  delicate  touch  of  sentiment 
characteristic  of  Mr.  McCarthy's  fiction.  The  book  takes  its 
name  from  the  heroine,  a  charming  type  of  the  gentle-born  Irish 
woman.  In  the  development  of  the  romance,  the  attempts  for 
Ireland's  freedom,  and  the  dire  failures  that  culminated  at  Hal- 
lingary,  are  told  in  a  manner  which  give  an  intimate  insight  into 
the  history  of  the  Young  Ireland  movement.  If  the  book  cannot 
be  considered  autobiographical,  the  reader  will  not  forget  that  the 
author  was  contemporary  with  the  events  described,  and  will  have 
little  difficulty  in  perceiving  that  many  of  the  principal  characters 
are  strongly  suggestive  of  the  Irish  leaders  of  that  day,  which 
gives  the  book  scarcely  less  value  than  an  avowed  autobiography. 

"  Mononia   is   drawn   with    all    Mr.    McCarthy's    ancient    skill." 

London  Out'ook. 

"  Beautiful  in  every  sense  is  this  *  Mononia.'  It  is  a  work  that  we 
could  expect  from  no  other  author,  for  it  is  largely  reminiscent. 
So,  besides  its  attractiveness  as  a  romance,  the  book  is  attractive 
as  an  informal  historical  document.  Read  in  either  of  these  lights, 
it  will  be  found  delightful." —  Boston  Journal. 

"  Altogether  a  good  story.  .  .  .  Mononia  is  full  of  beauty,  tender 
ness,  and  that  sweet  and  wholesome  common  sense  which  is  so 
refreshing  when  found  in  a  woman." —  The  Pilot  (Boston). 

"  The  description  of  the  affection  of  Mononia  and  Philip  is  a 
piece  of  literary  splendor." —  Boston  Courier. 

"  For  those  who  would  reject  its  historical  and  autobiographic 
phase,  there  remains  the  old-fashioned  love  romance,  full  of  fine 
Irish  spirit,  which  is  always  refreshing." — Mail  and  Express. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  by  the  publishers  on  receipt  of  price. 

Small,  Maynard  &  Company,  g,EPRLcbEY 


Two    Notable    Novels   by    Emma    Rayner. 

VISITING  THE  SIN 

A  Tale  of  Mountain  Life  in  Kentucky  and  Tennessee. 

I2mo,  cloth,  with  cover  designed  by  T.  W.  BALL.  448  pages.  $1 .50 

The  struggle  between  the  heroine's  love  and  her  determination  to 
visit  the  sin  upon  the  son  of  the  supposed  murderer  of  her  father 
forms  the  basis  of  the  story.  All  of  the  characters  are  vividly 
drawn,  and  the  action  of  the  story  is  wonderfully  dramatic  and 
lifelike.  The  period  is  about  1875. 

"A  powerful,  well-sustained  story,  the  interest  in  which  does  not  flag  from 
the  first  chapter  to  the  last."—  Philadelphia  North  American. 

"  Unusually  powerful.  The  dramatic  plot  is  intricate,  but  not  obscure." — The 
Congregationalist. 

"  A  graphic  and  readable  piece  of  fiction,  which  will  stand  with  the  best  of  its 
time  concerning  humble  American  characters." — Providence  Journal. 

"Far  ahead  of  most  of  these  latter-day  Southern  novels."—  Southern  Star. 
"  The  people  in  the  story  are  persistently  real." —  Christian  Advocate. 


FREE  TO  SERVE 

A  Tate  of  Colonial  New  York. 

I2mo,  cloth,  with  a  cover  designed  by  MAXFIELD  PARRISH. 

434  pages.  $1.50 

"One  of  the  very  best  stories  of  the  Colonial  period  yet  written." — Philadel 
phia  Bulletin. 

"  '\Ye  have  here  a  thorough-going  romance  of  American  life  in  the  first  days  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  It  is  a  story  written  for  the  story's  sake,  and  right 
v/ell  written,  to  >.  Indians,  Dutch,  Frenchmen,  Puritans,  all  play  a  part.  The 
scenes  are  vivid,  the  incidents  novel  and  many."—  The  Independent. 

"  The  writing  is  cleverly  done,  and  the  old-fashioned  atmosphere  of  old  Knick 
erbocker  days  is  reproduced  with  such  a  touch  of  verity  as  to  seem  an  actual 
curonicle  recorded  by  one  who  lived  in  those  days." —  Saturday  Evening  Post, 
Philadelphia. 

"  The  supreme  test  of  a  long  book  is  the  reading  of  it,  and  when  one  reaches 
the  end  of  Free  to  Serve,  he  acknowledges  freely  that  it  is  the  best  book  that 
he  has  taken  up  for  a  long  time." —  Boston  Herald. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  by  the  publishers  on  receipt  of  price. 

Small,  Maynard  &  Company, 


14  DAY  USE 

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